


Mercy for the Greedy

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Jensen, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jensen Ackles, M/M, Possessive Jared, Protective Jared Padalecki, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Top Jared, Violence, Young Jared Padalecki, Young Jensen Ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 33,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has a repertoire of secrets even he is loathe to face. Jared's life remained relatively uncomplicated until Jensen makes his appearance in it. There is no such thing as a Knight in Shining Armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Justin’s hands moved in slow, lazy circles over too-thin hipbones, jutting into his fingers with a sharp gasp from his prey.

The boy moans, real low in his throat, low enough that he might not have realized he did so, and Justin took a good look at him, more for something to do than for admiration. Dark blonde hair stood up in soft, mussed spikes, and his eyes, if they were open, would be bottle green, he knew. Justin clicked his teeth in the silence and watched as his eyes opened lazily.

He sat up and Justin counted his ribs from habit, his eyes tracing over the mottled bruises that interlaced the bones. He murmurs Justin’s name, as if he’ll answer, as if he ever does. “C’mon don’t be a jackass.” Justin clucks his tongue in humor. He is always impatient. The sound of a car grows louder in the distance and he stands up too quickly, swaying in on himself, tugging at his non-existent shirt, realizing he discarded it earlier.

“Justin, where the fuck is my shirt? Shit, I can’t go down like this.”

his voice rises and falls with the curse words, and he hunches at the waist, searching. His fingers trace at the fingerprint shaped bruises Justin has left over his abdomen, his shoulder, his hips. The door opens, downstairs, keys falling, soft heels growing closer to them and then retreating.

“Justin,” he hisses, this time in fear. He cocks a brow at him, inquisitively.

“Please, don’t fucking play games.” Justin pulls the shirt from the waistband of his pants with agonizing slowness. He is reveling in the crease in his brow, the way his face reddens as he works up the air to scream, punch or cry, Justin isn’t sure which yet. He does none of the above, pulling the shirt over his head just as a woman’s voice breaks the silence.

“Jensen, are you up there?”

The woman’s voice is shrill, insistent, although there is no reason for either yet. Jensen turns to him, motioning towards the back door, ignorant that his shirt is backwards and his belt lay unbuckled against the smooth lines of his hips.

“I’ll call you later,” he says tremulously, so unlike himself that Justin is momentarily confused.

He opens his mouth for the first time that evening, his voice a heavy rumble, a voice that frightens people when he first speaks.

“You’re lucky it was me and not Tom, Jensen .” His voice is heavy yet sweet, and Jensen flushes up to his hairline, crossing his arms.

“I know. Get out.” Justin leaves languidly, and he pulls his briefs from the waistband of his jeans as he leaves, laughing outright at Jensen’s indignation and his failed attempts to retrieve it.

He closes his palms over his pulsating temples as Justin exits, breathing too heavily, color too high.

“Coming, Aunt Mara” He calls, voice grating, he realizes belatedly.

He turns to the staircase, his breath leaving him unexpectedly and he presses his palm over the red and blue bruise pulsating on his upper rib. He meets his Aunt at the bottom of the staircase and his Aunt turns, with resignation, to appraise him. Mara is thin, and her hands have always been too long and big for her thin wrists. She tucks her graying hair behind an ear and sighs, deep from her belly. She looks at Jensen's face with the practiced air of one who has done so many times.

“Your mother asked for you today.”

Jensen does not react, and is proud of the fact that he has been able to school his emotions into nonchalance.

“She can kiss my ass. Alan too.” Mara grits her teeth, she is not a patient woman.

“He’s still your father, refer to him as such.”

Jensen rolls his eyes without much thought, and then plants his feet, inwardly cursing at his mistake. He sees the hot, blinding white light that comes from being struck too hard and too fast, and his neck cracks in the silence. He knows his face is flushed and his temple aches with more than stress now, but he says nothing as Mara uses two fingers to massage her brow.

She does not apologize, or refer to the hit in any real manner, but then, Jensen never expected her to.

“Why is your shirt on backwards?” She asks suddenly, sharply, and Jensen’s lungs constrict painfully as he jerks open his mouth in a hurried response.

“Wasn’t wearing it before you came home. I put it on in a hurry.” He pauses when it seems this answer is not satisfactory. “It’s the weekend, I’m just laying around the house.”

Mara squints and then clearly decides the confrontation is not one she cares to have.

“Jeff is coming over tonight.” She glances at her watch, her slightly raised brows the only evidence that the time has disturbed her.

“Stay in your room. And for Christ's Sake Jensen, keep that damn music off.”

Jensen nods without enthusiasm and hurries upstairs, shaking fingers pulling phone from his back pocket. He clicks on the first speed dial, his fingers and face warm to the touch, the throbbing vein giving him a raging headache.

He locks himself in his bathroom, and after a moment's inspection of his face, he tears his clothes off, inspecting his body. He is very slightly tan, his ribs covered in bruises, the soft flesh of his back slowly trying to heal the lacerations there.

He is sore where Justin fucked him, too sore, too fresh. His breath comes thick and loud in the bathroom, and he blushes in embarrassment. He registers that his phone is ringing, and picks it up with shaking hands, spider like veins crisscrossing his arms.

“Jesus fuck, answer the first time, you fucking called first!”

The curses and voice are too loud for the cramped room, his head and his life.

“Tom” he breathes, too quiet, and not the response Tom was clearly expecting.

“I’m not giving you any til tomorrow Jensen , just fucking sleep it off.”

He pauses infinitesimally.

”Justin told me you took it in every hole today baby, why don’t you ever do that for me?” He closes his eyes, lashes brushing his skin, voice breaking.

“Tell him to suck a fat dick, you hear me? And you don’t get fucking shit unless I choose to give it to you, you son of a bitch.” The tirade drains him, instead of invigorating his argument. Tom’s derisive laughter causes pinpricks of tears to force at his eyelids and he takes in one deep, shaky breath.

“You get whatever I give you, and you know that shit as well as I do.”

Here is the Tom he knows, not the mockingly teasing one, or the soft and warm one.

Here is his Tom, his voice dark with unbridled, uncontrollable, easily released rage, so soft and quiet it seems more like a caress than the very real threat it is.

Jensen holds his chest, aware that he has crossed one of Tom’s ever changing and unpredictable lines. He makes a low whine in his throat, a plea for forgiveness.

But Tom is already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All passages in italics occurred in the past. Italic passages lead up to the events in this chapter.

His head sings, and he can hear the voices from the hospital, crisp and clear, as if he never left.

“If you don’t stop struggling we’ll have to tie you down again!”

“Oh Jensen, you were doing so good! What happened?”

“Do you think it was the TV Karen, was it too much, too soon?”

Jensen writhes, his self-imposed silence impenetrable, even in his all-consuming terror.

Jensen’s head meets concrete then, jarring him from his reminisces, and he glances at the small pool of blood collecting, thinking vaguely that it looks like the strawberry sauce you drizzle on shortcakes. He rises up towards the sky just as quickly as he fell, his face still angled uselessly towards the blood, his blood, and he takes a harsh gasp of air right as his leg gives out.

_Callused fingers snag on Jensen’s lower lip and the familiarity of this gesture steals his breath._

_“Missed you baby.”_

_Tom’s voice stings like rubbing alcohol on a fresh wound. Difference being that he is cure and cause all at once._

_Justin’s not here and Jensen can’t bring himself to be grateful for small miracles. Jensen can barely see through the ever-present haze in the air and wouldn’t even be able to string together a coherent thought, were it not for Tom--_

_Jensen shouldn't have come. This is vital knowledge and he’s painfully aware that he’s asinine. But he can feel Tom’s hard length against his hipbone and he’s angling Jensen’s head up so he can press his chapped lips to the pulse point clicking in his neck--_

Down again. Cheek smashed in the blood this time. He thinks about darting his tongue out to taste it. Death tastes like salt and smells like rust.

There is a low roaring in his ears, as if someone has been talking, screaming, actually, and the volume is just now raised high enough for him to hear. Don’t like this station, Jensen considers.

“I don’t take that shit from you Jensen, I don’t even fucking need that shit from you. Know how many little boys wish they were you? Fucking want what I give you?”

_Jensen should’ve known._

_Should have preserved himself, as soon as he realized how benign Tom was acting, how concerned._

_But God...when has he ever listened_

_Even himself is not a match for_ himself...

Jensen is upright so fast his neck bobs back and then settles, and he smiles, tight lipped, into the abyss that is Tom’s cerulean eyes. Tom reigns himself in so violently that Jensen knows it is by sheer force of willpower. Jensen breathes out in a staccato rhythm, traces the splashes of color on Tom’s discolored knuckles.

_“I didn’t forget baby. I didn’t forget what you said. You said I couldn't have you. Like I don’t deserve everything you’ve got.” His voice is soothing, like a balm._

_It hardens to a sharp point with his next exhalation._

_“Fucking mine. Fucking goddamn mine and I don’t share, don’t lose, don’t let go. Should be fucking happy I love you so goddamn much.” Brittle voice._

_He isn’t yelling yet, but his voice is tight and controlled and Jensen knows, can feel it down to his marrow, that he’s not going to get out of this one unscathed._

_Still doesn’t explain why he tries to run. Why he breaks out of Tom’s grasp (embrace embrace embrace) and pants his way down the street, pulse jittering--_

“You ruin me,” he grits out, his face once again unreadable. Jensen feels like an infant, his head lolls around, he lacks the strength to hold it upright. Tom pulls it to his own face, a quick snap of his wrist.

“You know it too. You fucking know it, every bone in your fucking body is mine, and I never had to take it, you _gave_ it to me. You _love_ me.” Jensen strives for a laugh but his own blood gurgles in his throat, stopping that idea rather sharply. Eyes roll back, connecting with the washed out blue of the sky.

“The fuck is going on here?”

The voice does not belong to Tom, or Justin, or anyone he knows, for that matter. Jensen comes back to himself begrudgingly. He is released, unawares, and he falls, horribly loud, malignantly slow onto his left hip, head banging punishingly for the fifth or sixth time, he struggles to recall.

“Are you fucking serious man?”

The stranger hesitates, pausing in his disbelief to take a lengthy glance at Jensen. “Jesus fucking Christ” he hisses, voice low. Stranger’s voice has entered a register Jensen is intimately familiar with. Anger, Jensen breathes in his torn up mind. Someone sounds angry. This should concern him more than it does, he imagines.

Tom’s voice. Heavy and snide. Hemorrhaging in his body with the rest of his organs.

“This isn’t your business motherfucker. Just keep going. You don’t know him and you sure as fuck don’t know me.” Stranger’s casting a large shadow, Jensen mulls languidly.

Tom’s head is beside his, rather abruptly, so suddenly, in fact that his lungs gurgle as he heaves, trying to jerk away from his body. Tom is enraged. So angry his voice rips at Jensen’s head and he raises marred fists, anything really, to keep Tom’s voice out. Inaudible. Away. Stranger’s voice trickles in then, measured grunts and curses.

“Made it my business, fucking blood on the street”

He’s reaching his empty space, and he can’t ever decide if it’s better or worse than reality. Because at least when he’s in the present he’s got quantifiable, expected pain

But when he goes there--when he fucking goes there all he’s got is her laughter--and isn’t that just the worst pain of all?

Tom’s head departs from view and Jensen hears the sound of flesh battering flesh. Impenetrable and rapid. It ceases as suddenly as it started and Jensen’s body struggles to protect itself, with or without his consent. It jerks and spasms without volition and hazily Jensen can hear muttered curses. And Jensen really does attempt to listen, he does, but his head is too cumbersome and his body slumps and he doesn’t care about the sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be some confusion and various hints about Jensen's troubled past in this chapter. Questions and comments remain super helpful.


	3. Chapter 3

So warm, is the first thing he thinks, when he bends down to pick him up.

Jared is breathing a little too arduously for comfort, his hands swollen and sore, bad knee wailing in protest.

He disregards all of that when he looks, really looks down at him.

He is all bruises and bones, all dark blonde hair lightly tinged with his own blood, curled up lashes and crippled breaths.

All fists curled into his sides and small whimpers.

Jared thinks he’s covered in small flecks of his own blood (which he is, fucking drenched in the visual confirmation of his own fragility) but he’s got _freckles_ , literally thousands of them littering his skin, like constellations of cinnamon.

Jared is afraid for him.

He’s afraid for this delicate, beautiful boy, who should be neither of these things, not to him.

He shudders in obvious pain as Jared lifts him and tucks the blonde boy’s trickling head against his own chest. He doesn’t really know, he ponders, how to explain to his mom about the large blood stain rapidly developing on his jersey. The broken kid gurgles deep in his throat, a sound, Jared realizes, maddeningly slowly, that shouldn’t exist. The boy is small and slight in his arms, probably about 5’7, if that. Jared can feel the hammering of his heart beneath his disturbingly accessible ribs.

Hospital.

His car is across the street, he left it there unexpectedly when he had seen Jensen on his way home. He laughs ruefully, knowing Sandy will be furious that he’s not there when he said he would be, like he’s some kind of infallible robot. The boy’s name slides into place in his head, as adrenaline takes over and he tucks him into his passenger seat, pulling his jersey off completely, (his mother will really lose it now) and wrapping his bloody head in it as best he can. Jensen Ackles. He’s in his Biology class, he thinks, perturbed that he really isn’t sure. He is driving too hurriedly, too fast for Jensen’s head, he’s sure, but he doesn’t really have a choice because Jensen’s skin is grey pale and his breaths are slower than before and a boy can’t die in his car

He’s not a tragic fucking movie.

He’s in a blur, every muscle in his body wincing from his recent exertion as he cradles Jensen in through the automatic doors of the ER. Jensen is trembling, and the palm of his right hand is pressing tightly against Jared’s bare chest. Jared can see his face is streaked with tears and blood and somewhere in the flurry of questions and non-answers directed at Jared, Jensen blearily opens his eyes for a split second.

Malachite.

And Jared knows, as they gently tug Jensen from his arms, that he owes it to him to be there when he wakes up. And if Jared knows anything at all, he knows, innately, that no one pays Jensen anything owed to him.

-

Muffled.

His first thought is that Tom’s beaten him so badly he’s deaf now, and the thought is so tragic, so fucking teen drama cataclysmic that he chokes out a guffaw. It’s a laugh he instantly regrets, because he is seizing in bed now with the pain of the jarring sensation.

Bed?

He sits up, not without effort, and investigates his surroundings. There is not much to see, a television mounted on the ceiling in the corner of the room, two chairs, a window on the left, and this clearly hospital-designated bed, and he sighs in some sadness that he isn’t dead.

Someone clears their throat in the thick silence and he whirls around, Jesus fuck, too soon, too fucking soon, and sees a chair he missed, in a corner he missed, with a boy in it, that he quite clearly missed.

“Who are you?”

This comes out rougher and more harshly than intended, and he colors with shame as the stranger reels back a little in shock.

“I’m Jared Padalecki.”

Jensen expects more, waits for more, but when more isn’t offered he swings his legs over the side of the bed, biting his lower lip as he tries to climb out. He can’t be in this cramped ass room with this strange fucking boy. Strange Boy, (Jared Jared) is at his side in an instant, his eyebrows raised to his hairline at Jensen’s behavior.

“The hell Jensen? I didn’t stop your psychopath of a boyfriend from killing you for you to fuck yourself up in a different way!” Jensen legitimately collapses in shock, his fist against his mouth, trying to stop the hysterical giggles threatening to burst forth.

“What?” Jared threatens, his neck and cheeks dark, left hand in a fist. Jensen’s eyes trace Jared’s fist, wonders how much damage a weapon that big could cause.

“Your shirt is really big,” Jensen observes, randomly, the thought spilling from his mouth of its own accord. “Why’s it so big?”

“Yeah well, my other shirt is currently soaked in your blood. Couldn’t wear that home, could I?”

Jensen sobers up quickly, lurching into a sitting position again, hands holding his gauze wrapped head steady. “Fuck me. I’m really sorry…” he pauses as his addled brain searches for the guy’s name. “Really fucking sorry Jared. But you didn’t need to get yourself in with Tom. He’s not…” His raspy voice trails off, hands tangling themselves in sheets, heart rate elevated by just mentioning his name.

Jared looks like his rightful color is back and he laughs, a harsh sound Jensen decides he deserves.

“Take your own advice.” Jared sits up, mocking laughter gone as he leans towards Jensen. Jensen pulls back, reflexively, and Jared looks momentarily aggrieved. “Take your own fucking advice Jensen. I don’t know this dude and don’t really need to, but by the looks of you, you need to stay the fuck away from him. Anyone like him, honestly. You were practically drowning on your own fucking blood.” This is the most he’s said so far and Jensen snaps his jaw closed as he realizes he is staring open-mouthed. The pulsing of his head brings him back and his eyes stutter shut.

“Look,” he says tightly, not wanting to say the words, not fully even meaning them, but knowing this nice ass boy will get himself into some real shit if he doesn’t say them, “Look, thanks, thanks a shit ton for saving my ass. Back there. Which, I’m assuming you did, cause I was out for some of it—“ Jared smiles at his half-hearted attempt at humor, but more in recognition of the endeavor, rather than actual amusement.

“I’m just saying, you didn’t have to get involved. Not your problem. I can figure my own shit out, just-- lemme do it, okay?”

Jensen doesn’t really know what he just said, just let words pour from his mouth to the air. Not whole words, not full sentences, more like the words resulted from a leak and were put together sloppily, choppily, like they’re halfway broken.

Jared leans his elbows on knees for a sharp second, blinking his hazel eyes kind of lazily, like he’s sort of high. He drags palms on thighs and stands, not as angry as Jensen would like.

Jensen knows anger. He can’t figure Jared’s emotion at all and he curls into himself, sensing his own vulnerability. Motherfucker is tall. Not tall for his age, _giant_ tall. And seemingly unabashed.

“Alright,” Jared says simply, lips quirked in a half smile. “M’not your dad. See you around then, I guess.”

He turns, fluidly, on his heels and walks out of the room, and Jensen can’t breathe and it’s not due to his injuries.

He is bent on his side, curled in at his waist, and he knows he was right, to do what he did, and he wishes he was dead. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jared Padalecki is a lot of things. He’s not the best at school, but he’s taken enough AP courses to ensure that he will get into one of the top schools in the state, barring the success of his primary plan. He’s the best at soccer, he really is, and knows the scouts love him. He’s a forward, and that’s always meant he’s visible on the field. That’s plan A.

He’s a good kisser, makes girls whimper his name into his mouth. He’s not good at emotions and he’s solution focused where problems are concerned. Fastest route from point A to point B. He certainly isn’t good with fucked up people and shitty pasts. He doesn’t regret saving him, he’s not a psychopath, and he should regret staying with him, but he doesn’t. Not really. He’s a little thing, for a guy. Looks like he might have the chance to get bigger, taller, were he given half a shot. Slender and frail, covered from head to toe in blood and bruises that he didn’t earn.

He isn’t surprised he’s missed him at school, he curls into himself, willing himself out of existence. Eyes as green as the beer bottles he broke on the beach that one time. He groans at his train of thought. What does he care about some fucked up guy who would have rather died than let someone get involved in his potential murder?

But he does.

It isn’t a romantic thing. He’s not out to be anyone’s hero, and God knows not his. His stomach twists uncomfortably at that thought. Knows he’s got his own issues to sort out, knows his mother would be confused and his daddy a bit of an asshole. Knows his mama would blink in that pretty way she’s got and secretly preen that he has less of a chance to get a girl pregnant (how much less mama, I love pussy more than dick). His daddy would grunt a little, make callous wisecracks about “that faggot shit” and tell Jared to “stop pussyfootin around and take a damn joke.”

Nah, Jared’s not really scared of their reaction, but it’s also not something he feels he needs to add to his list of worries right now.

He’s got too much riding on his future to add Jensen to it and fuck everything up. But you’d have to be the devil incarnate to not care about something that tiny and damaged. He shakes his head, arms stiff at his sides, jingling his keys to remind himself it’s time to go. He heads to his car, head bent against the wind, thinking about all the blood on Howard St, and who gets to clean it up. Who gets to see the aftermath of a guy beaten bloody in public, a guy who didn’t raise a hand in defense. He sees a woman rush through the hospital doors, body thin and bird-like, pace brusque. No nonsense woman, he thinks.

He pulls himself into the driver’s seat, body aching from practice and brutality and resolves to call Sandy when he’s home and remind her that he isn’t God, and Lord knows he fucks up too.

-

He knows when Mara is in the room, because the room grows colder and Jensen knows that’s stupid, Mara isn’t a demon and this isn’t a b grade horror movie, but he feels ice in his veins whenever she’s around anyway.  Mara isn’t easy and slow, like Jared was to talk to, she is loud and spittle flies and she asks, **demands** , an explanation, as if Jensen did this to himself.

As if this were Jensen’s responsibility.

But then again, it was, wasn’t it?

Jensen clucks his tongue humorlessly and sits up, pain lessening in the habit. “Got into a fight with some fuckers who didn’t know that no meant no.”

It’s bullshit. He doesn’t even know where the lie came from, it sounded plastic, like he was a hard ass, like he was some tough motherfucker who fought his way through San Francisco with a knife in one hand and a dildo in the other, just to fuck anyone who crossed him.

Blinking at his logic, at his inability to tell his Aunt anything about anything, he has a hysterical fit again, lungs rattling in his chest, head so swollen and taut with gauze he’s wondering obscurely if popping it will relieve the pressure.  

“Jesus Christ Jensen, I don’t have the time for this. I just don’t. I had to leave work early, and you aren’t even the least bit sorry are you? You’re actually laughing, aren’t you?” Mara spits in her fury and that tips Jensen over the edge.

“I’m sorry Aunt Mara, really fucking sorry, it’s just, I didn’t mean for it to get this fucked up. Outta control.” He says this through fits of snickers, and it’s not really laughter, tears are shooting from his eyes and he’s battling the urge to pass out or vomit, maybe both, he hasn’t decided yet. Mara looks at him in revulsion and Jensen snorts just that little bit harder.

She looks so much like his mother right now that he can barely stand it. He squints, tries to rearrange her face into anything symbolizing love. Her face is twisted up, manicured nails pressing crescent like indentions into her palms. The lines on her face are pinched, and Jensen can see that underneath the veneer of disgust and exhaustion, she’s got a little something that stings like pity in her gaze. Jensen angles his eyes away so swiftly they cause a minor headache. Easier to loathe her when he can’t tell she’s at her wits end with him.

“I can’t even look at you right now. I’m just---ugh—I’m disgusted by your behavior. Your mother would be ashamed of you, and you know I’m going to tell her what you did when I visit next. You fucking ungrateful little—“she trails off, her face heated, not used to swearing or losing her cool. She looks like she’s ready to hit Jensen, and Jensen can only laugh in his head, that there isn’t a spot on his body Aunt Mara can touch that isn’t already mangled, inside and out. 


	5. Chapter 5

The first time he sees him again is three weeks later in some dumb ass Biology lecture about mitochondria or mitosis. Maybe osmosis. Jared isn’t really sure which. He looks better, Jared observes, grunting as expected to Sandy’s prattling about spring formal and her dress.

His head and face are clear and he’s walking with a limp no one would notice if they weren’t looking for it. His hair isn’t as dark as he thought it was and it’s artfully distressed, he notices with a snort. Big green eyes look flushed and if he bites any harder on his lower lip he’ll tear the skin. The tips of Jared’s ears flush. _Fucking poet Padalecki. Jesus_. He doesn’t look right or left and Jared sees he has friends in the back, the very back of the class, Justin something or other and some kid with too many piercings and not enough brain cells.

Watches through vaguely disturbed eyes as Justin grips his wrist so tight he visibly winces. He looks up up up at him, neck craned back so far he can see God, Justin 6’2 and growing. His voice a growl reserved for only Jensen, his cheeks painted pink so that Jared can hear the click of his pulse in the quiet room. Sandy jerks at his arm and Jared swirls to meet her, moment lost.

“Jesus Jared, I’m not doing the homework by myself again. Don’t give a flying fuck how long practice is about to be.”

Jared props his chin up on his hand, observing Sandy’s dusting of nose freckles and remembers her failed attempts to rid herself of them with lemon juice. Her hair’s the color of chestnuts and dark chocolate, and she’s wound it tightly against her head, says the pain helps her think. He blinks at her, ignoring her tirade and she flushes under his steady gaze, melting apart.

“Jareddd stop staring! Everyone’s gonna think we’re about to fuck at the table or something!”

Jared’s eyebrow quirks up. As if that were a bad thing. Sandy chatters again, he back in her good graces, her self-confidence restored, and Jared plays with the tendrils of her hair that have escaped the pain knot languidly, eyes roaming again.

He takes in the curling tips of Jensen's hair, and the way he’s enthroned on Justin’s knee like a child, he’s so fucking slight. His head is bent, cheeks flushed claret, Justin’s arm like a band across his chest and he can see Justin’s hands dipping down the back of Jensen’s worn jeans.

Jared gasps outright and turns away, disconcertion and dismay on his face. Motherfucker. Imagines what Justin’s fingers are doing, dancing around Jensen’s ass, making his face turn that alarming shade.

Jared doesn’t know exactly why he’s suddenly reverted to his apparent alter-ego, the Virgin Mary. Lord knows if he thought Sandy would cut him some slack he would slide his whole dick into her pussy, class be damned. Something about Jensen’s eyes though, there’s something alarming about that kind of softness.

Sandy stutters in her speech, looks at him quizzically and decides it isn’t worth pursuing. Jared drops his hands from her neck, her hair, her face, and opens his book with a forceful bang. Sandy laughs sheepishly at the disapproving looks the class shoots their way and she glowers down at Jared.

Jared holds his hand in a vicious fist at his side, his pulse clicking through the tight set of his jaw and he realizes he can taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth.

-

Jensen tries not to look over at him, see the boy that saved his worthless life and left it in the same day. He goes to sit with Justin and Mark, two sides of the same coin. Justin grunting his hello at him, at first, until he’s closer, close enough to touch.

Hand on his wrist so confining it burns.

“Tom is looking for you baby,” he breathes, voice so low he knows no one can hear him but Jensen. Mark is blazed to high heaven, he doesn’t know who is he right now, so Jensen ignores him to look up at Justin. Jensen’s not that tall, honestly and it’s difficult to look up so far with his brain melting in his head and leaking out of his ears. He glances to the ground in the expectation of blood.

“Justin, I haven’t had so much as a hit in two weeks, he knows—“Jensen stutters in his fear, scared to say his name, even in tones as low as this, “he knows I wouldn’t get shit from anyone else. Nobody but him. He knows, he fucking knows I fucked up okay? Tell him I’m really sorry.”

He hates how haggard and debilitated his voice sounds, and how Justin eats it up, his dark eyes thirsty and dangerous. He’s not sadistic like his brother. His rage is even more tight and disciplined. Where Tom is all oppression and madness, red smoke and flames, Justin is the eye of the tornado. He never breaks. He is always collected and he always ruins. Jensen is on his knee so quickly his face pales and he has to hold back a wave of nausea. Jensen glances towards the front of the classroom, wishing Mr. Decker gave a rat's ass about what his students were doing during his class. Jensen knows he doesn’t, knows this is the only class in which Justin can get away with this behavior.

“I’ll tell him baby,” he says, cool and quiet against Jensen’s ear, as if it’s okay what he’s doing, as if he can take what belongs to his brother in any way he wants.

As if he can’t, actually.

Hands down the back of his pants, like lightning, probing at the wrinkled furl of his most sensitive area with calloused fingers and rough whispers in Jensen’s ears, muttering filth, like he’s in a badly directed porno, like Jensen should be creaming his pants and crying for God in thankfulness that he’s allowed this joy into his life. Justin bites his earlobes and pushes two fingers inside, up to the knuckle, so hard tears spring, unbidden to his eyes. He glances up at the classroom, just can’t think about what’s being done when he catches Jared’s eye.

Jensen’s breath hitches. Jesus Fucking Christ, it would be him. Fuck. He bends at the waist, bends so that only the top of his head remains visible. Oh his shame, the fucking illness of it, the anguish, the absence of dignity and the malignancy of the ordeal. He breathes shallowly, differently than before and Justin growls, anticipating his coming, thinking Jensen loves him for this.

This.

Jensen looks up briskly, at a loud noise, and even Justin’s fingers falter at the sound. Heads swiveled in Jared’s direction, Sandy McCoy shooting daggers down at him as if he is a pariah, her pariah nonetheless, but still. Jared is immobile, his shoulders rigid. Jensen looks down again, unable to face even his back, and knows it is time to fake an orgasm for Justin, who will chafe him raw until he believes he has gotten Jensen off. He muddles breathlessly through the act, pleasing Justin, knowing he will not check Jensen’s dick, not wanting cum all over his hands.

Course, Jensen didn’t come at all, but Justin can remain ignorant of that fact.

Jensen heaves a sigh and then remembers, in mortification, that he must talk to Jared again, whether he wants to or not.


	6. Chapter 6

Sandy’s voice is grating, as it has been ever since that day in Biology. The class has become nothing short of a brisk exercise in torture for him, as he willfully ignores the corner in the back left, and whatever depravity emanates from it. Jared leaves the classroom first, ignoring Sandy’s sputters to “fucking wait up you damn lumberjack,” and lengthens his strides to place as much distance as he can between him and that goddamn den of iniquity.

Why he even bothers, Jared muses, as he strips down in order to change into his uniform, is beyond him.

-

Jared, sweaty from practice, and thankful that he had two hours of mindless athleticism before his brain tormented him again, steps away from the water fountain and pulls the sticky fabric of his shirt up and over his head. He hears a throaty sound, and his neck snaps down, almost as if he knew exactly who made it the moment he heard it.

He sways a little on his feet, worn jeans distressed with holes, and a tight Henley, even though it’s like 85 degrees out and he could die of heat stroke. Jensen’s fingers are curled up into fists in the sleeves of his shirt, and there’s a little pool of sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat.

Jensen can’t weigh more than a buck thirty, and this concerns Jared greatly.

He clears his throat again, clearly waiting for Jared to speak. “Something you need Jensen?” His voice is rough, like sandpaper on skin, but he does not apologize. Jensen squints up at him, higher than even at Justin because he is 6’4 and unabashedly proud of the fact.

“I uh, I brought your jersey. From your soccer uniform. Sorry it took so long, had a lot of blood to clean out of it.” He says it all low and rushed, snaps his neck back down like the confrontation visibly wounded and drained him. Jared feels badly. This mangled little thing doesn’t need _his_ shit on top of whatever other issues he doesn’t seem able to fix.

He’s kneeling before Jensen before he realizes it and sees that they’re about equal height now, and this makes him laugh so hard he cries a little. Hears the throb of his little pulse and sees it in Jensen’s throat, and the color is rising quickly to his face and he watches hands curl into fists as Jensen takes a big breath.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Any other guy and he would have laughed harder, but he stops instantaneously now, ashamed. “M’not laughing at you, I’m just tall as fuck and you’re so short I can kneel and we’re the same height.” The color leaves Jensen as quickly as it came and it’s replaced by a smile, and it’s a smile Jared wishes he’d never given because now he can’t get it out of his head, small white teeth and little crinkles in the corner of his emerald eyes, like he’s really pleased.

Stands up. Jesus fuck.

Jared knows a few things about himself. He knows he can stare a truth in the face and ignore its plausibility (did it for years over his own sexuality, no, every boy does _not_ think Leo-circa-Titanic-era is jaw droppingly fuckable) but he doesn’t understand Jensen. He turns the problem over in his mind and acknowledges he’s too invested. Whatever that may mean, Jensen’s life matters to him right now, and Jared feels more settled in his skin now that he’s come to terms with this.

Jensen seems to sense his retreat and waves his arms helplessly. “Sorry I got mad, I just thought you were fucking around with me.” Jensen’s ears flush and then he grits out, “shouldn’t make fun of people smaller than you. We can’t all be Bigfoot and terrorize the townsfolk.”

Jared just blinks, and in the reigning silence he can see Jensen start to retreat within his shell, but then Jared’s laughing so hard he thinks he might double over and crack his spine in two.

_Kitten’s got claws,_ is all Jared can think, and he’s forever thankful that he manages to keep that sentiment locked up in his head. Somehow he doubts that Jensen would enjoy being compared to a kitten, helpless as he may be.

Jensen is grinning now, ear to ear and his fists have uncurled. He bites his lower lip.

“Also, I’m sorry I, sorry I yelled at you back, back there.” He can’t seem to say the word hospital, Jared notes with some amusement. “I just uh, just didn’t want to see you mixed up in the wrong crowd. You’re too all-American to be dealing with drug dealers and crack whores and shit like that.” Jared’s face darkens with those words. Has a name to attribute to the sons of bitches now.

He’s hurrying on now, like he can’t stop speaking now that he’s started. Jared can sense his awkwardness, the idea that he would rather be dead than be talking to him right now, the strain he’s under by just being here and pretending he’s normal. Jared’s looking at his pulse again and it’s comforting to him. Visible proof that he’s still semi-functioning.

Later, Jared couldn’t tell you what compelled him to do it, what necessitated his desire to further wedge his way into Jensen’s orbit. There are just a few things he’s certain of at present.

Jensen is going to die. Jensen is going to go fucking silently into that good night, and he’d rather avoid that being the final chapter in Jensen’s novel.

“As long as I'm not bothering you,” Jared hears himself interrupt.

Jensen’s voice stutters to a halt, open mouthed, to stare at him.

“We should get coffee.” Jared continues, voice like liquid sin. “Or something. Whatever. Just like to know you’re still alive and kicking it. Don’t want my heroic rescue to go to waste. You owe me.”

Jensen’s face clouds over at the last, and Jared draws back, unsure of what he’s said, but then Jensen’s face lightens minutely and he nods once, in agreement.

“You’re a vain bastard. Could’ve saved myself.”

Jared laughs and Jensen laughs, and they both know it’s utter bullshit,

and Jared thinks to himself that he’s not his to save. 


	7. Chapter 7

Tom is tight lipped and too calm beside him, his fingers brushing his thigh absently, almost lovingly. Tom would press blunt fingers to Jensen’s throat were Jensen to acknowledge the irregular scar that stretches from the corner of Tom’s left eyelid to the left side of his neck. Jensen’s eyes traces the pattern idly and his mind drifts to the assortment of mottled green and blue bruises that he _knows_ are covering Tom’s rib-cage.

Jensen smirks privately to himself, interlacing his fingers together under the table.

Someone did that for _him_.

Jensen’s smile dims a bit when he remembers that Tom is a patient bastard. Tom hasn’t mentioned Jared, hasn’t discussed the surely numerous ways he plans to dismember the kid. But Jensen knows there’s a reason that Justin has been coming to Biology more often, and it’s not only to fondle him.

Jensen’s breath sticks in his lungs and he locks those thoughts away. Tom’s a bloodhound. Senses weakness and fragility and decimates it with a hunger that appalls him.

Jensen yanks his thoughts back to the task at hand and reminds himself that he’s with Tom in the middle of the shittiest Burger King he’s been near in awhile. Jake Abel is sitting across from them, fingers moving too much, eyes restless, signs of feening for a fix. He’s known him since childhood, he was Jensen’s first kiss, incidentally enough, and his watery blue eyes were more focused back then. He’s in two of his classes now, and regularly so fucked up he can barely breathe, let alone function.

His addiction of choice is PCP and Tom is more than delighted to give it to him.

Jensen should hate him, he really should, but he knows how he feels, the thump thump in his heart and his veins, the off kilter feeling he’s got, right now, frenzied for a high, _any_ fucking high.

He’ll sell his mom and his dick for it and Jensen watches him without judgment, knowing he will and has done far worse.

Tom is maddening. He talks to Jake, even though he knows Jake hasn’t got any interest in them besides his next rush. Jensen hums in his throat in sympathy, and immediately regrets it when Tom’s gaze floats his way.

“Something you need?”

Jensen’s heart falters and he hears another voice ask him the same question, warm twinkle of gratification in hazel eyes. Jensen’s throat dries up and he berates himself internally.

 _Jared Padalecki will never be any kind of light in your obscurity._ Jensen chants it to himself. Wills it into existence.

Shakes his head no, furiously.

Tom’s never beat him up the way he did two months ago, never let Jensen fracture his head on concrete and malevolence, never let him roll in his own blood like a pig in mud. Tom grips his thigh reflexively, as if he can sense his train of thought, and Jensen whimpers, real low. Tom smiles. He likes him feeble and tattered.

Tom tires of Jake and slides him the product nonchalantly, and if Jake could kiss Tom’s feet and still retain possession of his nuts, Jensen knows he would. Jake blinks, for the first time in his direction, as if he can think clearly now, can focus on the world outside of his crippling addiction. Eyes peruse Jensen with interest.

Maybe he’s remembering grabbing Jensen by too tiny wrists and cupping his warm palm over the side of Jensen’s face. Tilting him into the kiss that would expose Jensen to the firestorm of his sexuality. Jensen flushes with the memory, lashes brushing gently against pink tinted cheeks.

“Hey Jensen, long time no see. If you’ve done the Civics homework I would love you for fucking ever if—“

“No.”

It’s one word, but it’s so heavily loaded that Jensen’s breath stops and he looks at Jake, praying his drug reduced mind isn’t so addled that he doesn’t get the clear warning behind it. Tom is not fucking around. Jake blinks once and nods in Tom’s direction, Jensen no longer exists, again, and exits the diner.

Jensen could weep. As it is, his next breath rattles in his throat with unshed tears. Jensen would give anything, _anything_ for a second more of that fond look in Jake’s eyes.

Jensen is quivering beside Tom, soul seeping out of his body, twisting with Tom’s to make a hybrid beast.

To solidify _them_.

Tom turns in one smooth motion to face him, grabbing Jensen by the small of his back and cupping his chin in his too tight fingers. He can hear the blood rushing through his head and count his breaths and Tom’s too close to his face with his dark eyes and long lashes and he looks like he’d like to slit Jensen’s throat and drink his blood and Jensen isn’t breathing.

“Fucking adore you baby,” is all he says, and he’s hugging him forcefully, Jensen’s small chest pressed to his bigger one, and he and Justin are about the same height but Tom is built a bit bigger. He is shuddering and trying to control it, which only serves to make him shake further.

“You want a hit?”

Tom angles his head down to meet his, eyes warmer than he’s seen for a while and he thinks that he is sorry, really sorry, cause he hurt him worse than he’s ever done before.

Jensen nods once real quickly, in case he changes his mind. He rests his head on Tom’s shoulder and remembers when he was fourteen and he thought he found the man he was going to marry.

And now he’s seventeen and a part of him regrets Tom’s intrusion into his life, and the other half just wants Tom to get him high and fuck him and the next time he tries to kill him, make sure he succeeds.


	8. Chapter 8

He’s played every position at least once, and had many repeat performances. He likes being a forward best though. He’s a proud motherfucker, he can admit that. Likes being valuable. Likes the thrill of being the one to score the goals.

Fucking _worships_ winning.

He wipes his palms on his shorts, relishing the sweat they’ve produced. He glances at his friend Chad across the field, and catches his eye, baring his teeth in more of a grimace than a smile. Fourteenth time they’ve run this drill this hour and Jared could do it in his sleep, probably has. Chad humps the air lewdly, squinty little eyes winking as he licks his lips.

Jared guffaws aloud, internally debates why he’s got a savage for a best friend.

The sun cuts across his vision in a jagged arc as he shifts into motion, and he can see Jensen running through the empty bleachers, moving faster than he’s ever seen him go. Jared’s so good at what he does, he thinks vainly, that the sight doesn’t make him waver and he sweeps the ball out from under the opposing teammate with unnatural grace.

Practice end shortly thereafter and he ignores Chad’s salacious catcalls in order to detour towards him. He’s in a small black t-shirt today and grey jeans, the bottoms so raggedy he can barely see where the jeans end and his shoes begin. His hair looks a little windblown and Jensen’s dragged fingers haphazardly through it in an attempt to look more presentable. Jensen’s about to strain his face he’s grinning so hard. He looks more vulnerable this way and Jared bites down on his jaw, aware that that is the last thing he wants to hear.

He’s in Chucks, one of them significantly more scuffed than the other. “So guess what.” He says, his voice high and excited and Jared kneels out of habit and grunts.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think you’ve looked this excited the entire time I’ve known you.” He raises a brow when this fails to get a rise out of Jensen.

“Christian Kane asked me to formal.” He shifts to his other knee, making a show of his soreness. Jensen’s brows furrow in concern but he waves him away.

“That’s awesome Jensen” he says, genuinely happy that someone has taken enough notice of him to ask at all. Pretty pleased because he knows Kane is bi and not just a piece of shit who wants to get at Jensen’s ass. He resists the urge to envelope Jensen in a bear hug, knowing that will cause him to retreat.

He’s hands clasped tightly and bated breaths, biting his lower lip in anticipation of Jared’s reaction. He realizes that it matters, actually matters to Jensen that he gives a shit, that this moment means something to him. That Jensen came to fucking _practice_ to tell him.

That’s a lot of weight, he realizes, suddenly feeling light headed.

He stands and Jensen moves a bit closer, winces a little as he struggles to meet Jared’s eyes. “You said,” Jensen’s throat flutters a little bit as he gulps and continues, “you uh, wanted to know that I was still alive and shit, so I thought you’d get a good laugh out of the fact that I’m going out. Where there are people.”

Jared snorts then and gets a sick little thrill out of the color that rises to Jensen’s cheeks.

“Well shit, you’d better go get an outfit, can’t go in jeans and Chucks.” He looks perplexed, as if he hadn’t thought the entire affair through. He scratches at one eyebrow absently and then sighs.

‘”Well, fuck Padalecki, you sure know how to ruin a good thing.” Jared’s laughter is forced this time and he wonders how much Jensen regrets the day he wasn’t allowed to drown in his own blood.

-

Pussy isn’t worth this.

But then again, this is the fourth time he’s thought that this hour and he’s still trudging behind Sandy and her friends as they flit from store to fucking store. He’s alone in the pit too, but Sandy promised him head if he could make it through the day, and if there’s one thing her mouth is good for, it’s that. He scrubs a hand over his face and scratches at the five o’clock shadow that’s already begun to collect.

“Sandy, I’m just going to sit here” he proclaims dramatically, flopping down in a white armchair that’s built for someone at least five inches shorter.

“Are you serious? Jared I swear to God I can’t even _think_ about picking out a dress unless I know you think I look good in it!”

He groans so loudly that the male patrons in the vicinity shoot him supportive glances. “Sandy you have a whole fucking _squad_ with you right now. If they can’t help you look good, you’re shit out of luck.” She still looks livid, he notes, but has seemed to accept that he’s done moving. This is the sixth store and no one can say he isn’t a trooper, because he was done by store number two.

He stretches his legs out, blocking most of the traffic, and justifies it because, c’mon, a big boy needs space. He shuts his eyes for about four seconds before they’re jerking open because someone is tripping over him. He reaches his hands out instantly to steady the stranger and then immediately laughs, because it’s him.

Of course.

His eyes are violently pissed, and he’s got like five shirts and four slacks tucked around and under his arms. It’s a wonder he can see at all. “Shut the fuck up Sasquatch” he hisses and Jared holds hands up in surrender. Jensen’s eyes begin to water suddenly and he pushes the clothes into Jared’s arms. “I don’t even know why I thought I could fucking do this shit. I don’t even know what to wear to this, or what looks good and it’s not like I’ve got a ton of friends to help, so why the hell am I here right now?” Jared looks terrified, because he’s clearly expecting an answer.

“I’ll judge them.” The words are out before he can pull them back. “Better me tell you that you look fucked up than Kane.” Jensen colors briefly, snapping closed the mouth that had fallen open.

Jared leans forward with his knees on his elbows, resigning himself to doing the one thing he thought he had liberated himself from today. Jensen slides out of the dressing room in an electric blue dress shirt and khaki slacks that has him laughing before the door is all the way open. Jensen flips him off in response.

“You look like a fucking blueberry Jolly Rancher man. What’s Kane gonna do? Lick you all night?” Jared’s literally mopping tears away from his eyes.

Two more outfits pass in the same manner and Jared has the petrifying thought that he’ll die here, in this small ass chair without getting head from his sometimes girlfriend. Not to mention he’s with a guy he cannot understand who seems to be seeking his approval. Jared’s about to tell him that whatever he has on right now is the winner, but then, time honest-to-God ceases to be a concern

because Jensen’s there in front of him.

And green is his color, and Jared knows he hates that. Hates feeling like there’s a possibility he might be distinct. Prominent.

It’s forest green and it’s got Jensen’s eyes damn near sparkling. His pants are charcoal, cupping his ass in a way that’s got Jared surreptitiously adjusting his jeans. Jensen looks up, doe-eyes trusting, entirely too long lashes sweeping his pale cheeks.

Jensen wraps his arms around himself self-consciously. “You haven’t said anything, so I’m guessing you think this one is just absolute shit.”

Jensen gnaws at his lower lip, color slowly staining his features.

Jared’s never been tongue tied and he sure as hell isn’t now.

“That’s the one.”

He’s also never been one to mince words. Jensen blinks twice and turns, his head down, as if he’s ashamed.

And he shouldn’t be, God knows he’s done nothing wrong, but Jared doesn’t lift a finger to tell him otherwise. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements may be triggering. Passages in italics reference past events.

He’s so high he knows he’s floating while he’s tethered to the ground. Tom is like a pendulum next to him, dragging him inexorably in his direction.

He’s supposed to visit his mother tomorrow.

He grinds bitten down fingernails into his ribs and claws until his nails are slick with blood.

Fuck

Tom is beside him, his breath ghosting over his ear and Jensen willfully tunes him out.

He feels like a fish on a hook when Tom jerks at his hair and he turns all of his attention to him. “The least you could do is fucking pretend to listen.”

He’s so smooth right now, that Jensen should be afraid, but for the first time he remembers that there are bigger fish in the sea, and there was fear _before_ him and there would be fear long after he was gone. It was always going to eat him up, from the inside out, until he was just a painful mistake.

Jensen turned to face him, face blank and head a million miles away. Tom pokes at him with probing fingers, just as graceless as when Jensen was fourteen and asked him to go slower, be gentler

Stop

Stop

Stop

_He’s taking Jensen’s hand, shock of black hair falling against his tan forehead, body more lean than it is now, baby blues lit up with mirth._

_“I wanted you the minute I saw you. All adorable and confused, had no fucking clue how to get home.”_

_Jensen remembers the night in question. He snuck out to go to a party he was invited to by a friend who had long since moved away._

_Lost as fuck, no idea how to get back home, buzzed on his first taste of liquor and adrenaline. Aunt Mara would’ve murdered him._

_And Tom, flanked by Justin even then, eyes dazzling and alive, fingers curling around Jensen’s, cradling his crimson cheeks._

_“Fucking beautiful. Like a porcelain doll. Jus, isn’t he like a freaking doll?” Justin just nodded, wary of seeming too responsive, aware of the volatility of his half-brother even if Jensen was not as fortuitous._

_“Goddamn baby angel. I’m about to keep you sweetheart. I’m gonna keep you and love you and never ever let you go.”_

_Jensen can’t tell if the dark-haired boy is drunk or just plain unhinged but Jensen **wants**. He wants whatever this boy is promising him, whatever way he wants to deliver it._

_careful what you wish for_

But he’s never had sex any other way than this.

Better to ask forgiveness.

He’s squeezing too tightly and then he’s wiping at the eyes he didn’t even know were crying. He’s sucking bruises into Jensen’s flesh, he likes for Jensen to know he’s been there. For everyone to know he’s pissed on his territory.

“Love you, love you, love you.”

Loved Jensen since before he knew what love was. He’ll love him when Jensen’s dead and gone because if Tom’s not there to love him, he won’t be either.

-

Jeff is in the car. Jensen’s always thought that it was strange that he was around at arbitrary times. He’ll miss a family dinner but will drive him and Mara to Copestone to see his mother.

Jensen doesn’t mind Jeff. Mara doesn’t like for him to be around when Jeff is over, so Jeff has never seen how vicious Mara can be. Jeff’s narrowed his eyes at Jensen, plenty of times.

Those are the points when Jensen’s bruises are slowly healing. Jensen hasn’t got a lot of credible justifications during these moments.

No, Jensen sort of likes Jeff. Same can’t be said for his mom.

Birthgiver.

He doesn’t know what else to call her.

Judas, maybe.

His hands are shaking and he’s wearing long sleeves to cover up the plethora of track marks from last night. His eyes are rimmed and ablaze and he’s never felt like more of the addict he is. He would take anything Tom gave him, right now, for any price. Mara refuses to look at him, pretending that she doesn’t know he exists. Jensen picks at the wound scabbing open from yesterday. Small blot of rust seeping onto the yellow fabric.

He wants it to bloom until it covers everything. He doesn’t remember getting out of the car, or going inside, giving his name to the receptionist. He is present in body only until they reach the room, and then Jensen comes back to himself so quickly he suffers a head rush.

Always had to be aware, with her.

She’s facing away when Jensen enters, hands behind her back, a gesture so familiar that Jensen physically cannot breathe.

_And he’s alone, or so he thinks, seven years old, Ninja Turtle pajama bottoms soaked with urine_

_One sock quite a bit higher than the other, his left sneaker significantly more worn than the right._

_Her hands are clasped behind her back and she faces the window, the crack of her knuckles the only indication that she isn’t made of stone._

_And it’s the only sound in the room._

_At first._

It’s just as he expected it to be. She turns around at the sound of the opening door, and Jensen is forever glad he’s so small, as Donna sees Mara first and her face breaks into a thousand smiles. As if Jensen could ever forget that crooked little smile and the eyes that look exactly like his own.

“Jensen, sweetheart…” and his heart palpitates and valiantly attempts to send itself into cardiac arrest. It shouldn’t be exactly the same. It should have deteriorated.

“Oh baby, I didn’t think you’d ever _come_.” Jensen knows exactly what it feels like to be deranged, because this monstrosity of a meeting should not be occurring. He’s better than he used to be. He’s better at dissembling. And because he’s bleeding out his insides, he doesn’t show the Birthgiver. Even Mara seems pleased. And Donna is hugging him so tightly and his heart is like a bird in a cage and he just wants air.

“How have you been baby? How’s school going? How are your grades? Your friends? Any girls? Have you---

even she stammers, “have you talked to your dad recently?”

And when Jensen stands, turns, and leaves the room in one smooth passage, no one comes to save him, and isn’t that _just_ in keeping with the ordinary?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggering elements throughout.

Jared Padalecki doesn’t pray.

Not consciously anyway. He offers up positive vibes to the powers that be before any sporting event, but prayers have never voluntarily crossed his lips, excluding Mass.

He’s reciting a rosary like he is the Virgin Mary herself.

Jensen is as pale as death and the only indication of life is the erratic sound of his chest as he gurgles his way to breathing properly again.

_Fumbling with his keys, it’s too dark to see, drops his soccer bag down on his porch with a heavy grunt. Shit was heavy and he’s fucking **hot**_

_Reels backwards in alarm, trips over his cleats, the stairs, and his sidewalk, in that order._

_He can live a thousand years and **never** see Jensen lying discolored and prostrate before him again._

_Scooping that listless body in his arms for the second time, running him lightly upstairs_

_don’t wake up mom don’t wake up mom don’t wake up_

He’s never forced anyone to vomit before. He’s salvaged a boy from certain death twice, and both times it was none of his goddamned business. Jensen was on his porch. Like he did this and then came to leave his fragmented promises and mutilated body all over Jared’s conscience.

Jensen’s a fucking piece of shit.

_He’s not breathing._

_“Jensen Jesus Christ fucking please breathe. God please please please”_

_Mutters to himself, prayers propelling from his lips._

He grips the damn rosary harder, positive that he’s jinxed his prayers by cursing him so fervently. And it’s like his own private version of a horror movie when Jensen sits straight up and coughs so overwhelmingly Jared’s pretty sure that’ll be what kills him, never mind the overdose.

_Fingers down Jensen’s throat, angling erratically_

_shaking all over._

_Saw Sandy do this when she took too much medicine on accident, once._

_He’s got Jensen leaking all over his palm, his wrist, coating his bathroom floor._

_Watches Jensen’s corpse drag in lungful after lungful of air._

_Watches him lose consciousness._

He rolls up onto his knees and angles his head to face Jared’s. Everything he could say cycles through his mind at a ferocious pace, and he’s wondering if slapping Jensen straight across the face would jar any of his brain cells back into proper positioning. Jensen collapses back to the ground after his false start. Jared wants to curse him out, or tell him to try better next time.

So, obviously, the only thing that comes out his mouth is

“I’m sorry.”

Dead boys can’t laugh, but Jensen is about to smother to death in front of him regardless.

“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?”

The laughter dies in his throat and he looks at Jared sluggishly, the expression not matching the venom in his voice.

“I burned down my own home. I tried to die once and that was a complete failure, so I tried again.”

Jensen rolls over to face him fully. “And I couldn’t do it this time because I thought---Jesus--- I thought that you might be pissed off that I was basically saying fuck you when you saved my life last time.”

He’s standing now, teetering on baby lamb legs like he’s got the right to be upright.

“So I dragged myself over here, thinking I could say bye, and fuck, drugs can’t even kill me right, they’ve gotta make me think that coming over here was the rational thing to do.”

He’s damn near vibrating, he’s trembling so hard, laughing and wailing all at the same time and Jared is fairly certain he’s watching lunacy in motion. He hasn’t spoken at all except to say that he’s fucking sorry, and that didn’t help shit.

“Jesus, **why** though? If you’re going to keep trying, at least fucking tell me why.”

Jensen looks up, irate, but the words are past his lips now and vitriol is spewing violently.

“You shut the fuck up. You look me in the **goddamn face** and you tell me why I’ve got your blood on my hands and your fucking vomit under my fingernails. Fucking explain why I’m apparently playing God and _giving you back your motherfucking life_ every week?”

Jared’s hurt him, he can see it in the slope of his back and the way Jensen’s eyes won’t waver away from his face. He cares, somewhere inside, that he’s brought more grief into his life, but does Jensen know what he’s done to him? He’s fucking eighteen years old. My God, he’s got athletic scholarships, for one!

He even has a decent crowd of girls willing to spread legs and dignity for him and this boy is intent on ruining everything he can touch.

Jared buries his face in his palm. His body is twitching, barely noticeable trembling in his right hand. Hand he used to make Jensen hurl. Closes his eyes but all he sees is malachite and cinnamon freckles, soft lower lip and helplessness.

Jensen’s burrowed into his nerves.

Jared reaches out for him, fingers grazing the knobs of his spine, the first physical contact they’ve had since he carried Jensen into his car. He remains, stagnant, and doesn’t begin to relax his body until Jared’s frame is draped over his and his fingers are digging into the flesh of his upper arm.

“You don’t have to squeeze so hard, I know I’m alive, I can still feel pain.” Jensen breathes the words out, cheeks smashed into Jared’s neck, breaths ragged and unsteady.

“Shut up” Jared murmurs, without heat, without emotion.

This isn’t for Jensen.

-

Jensen’s gone in the morning. There isn’t even a trace that he’d even been there. His warmth is missing from Jared’s chest and his bathroom is immaculate. He even cleaned up shit that he didn’t touch.

Jared’s got a blanket over him and a pillow under his head. He scrubs a hand over his face and pulls back slightly to inspect his skin. Christ, he’s even cleaned his entire hand. There’s no residue.

Jared pulls himself onto his back, breathing labored. Skipped out when Jared was dead to the world, anesthetized by horror and expenditure.

He _can_ do things thoroughly, when he chooses.

And Jared sits straight up at that thought.

He’s cauterized Jared’s life clean of him.  


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance! At least, part 1 of the dance. Major fluff within.

_He didn’t set out to burn down the entire house. Honestly._

_It was just the pajama bottoms. He just wanted to light the fucking pants on fire. He just wanted to watch it turn to ash and maybe touch it a little_

_It exploded too rapidly_

_And then he just didn’t want to end it at all._

_It licked at her curtains and consumed them, delicate blues and teals going up in flames. Jensen could imagine the way she would be screaming, if she were in the middle of the holocaust._

_The path to paradise begins in hell._

_Even when he starts coughing up a lung, it doesn’t plague him. He wants to inhale real deep and feel it at the back of his throat, expunge the taste there._

_Figuring out how to swaddle himself in flames and sustain. But whatever is left unblemished, does he really want it?_

_He can hear his mother wailing, remotely, words jagged and sore. “Jensen! Oh my GOD not here! Not fucking HERE!”_

_And Jensen smiles to himself, cause he’s done it here deliberately, and he hopes whenever he sees the color of the sea he smells burning flesh_

Jensen jerks awake so quickly he almost blacks out. He hasn’t thought about that day in so long he almost forgot what happened.

But how could he?

How could he forget the way the Birthgiver looked through him and around him

And looked for Mack? Jensen has never been oblivious to it. And that’s where the problem has always lain.

-

He’s two hours away from a dance he had mentally discarded. He barely recalls what Chris looks like, let alone that he’ll be driving to his house to pick him up. He’s high as fuck, just weed this time, and he swears he can’t remember the last time he didn’t cross buzz. He doesn’t let the fact hinder him, he knows he’ll be fucked up and fucked before the night is through. He can’t feel his hands, gawks at them like they’re foreigners.

Mind turns lazily to Tom, hands encircle his chest as he flushes, reminding himself of the way Tom had enveloped him last night. Tom’s lazy smirk, hushed words.

Jensen’s so damned thankful that he and Justin are out of town.

_“Gotta go visit some friends baby. Handle some shit I had no reason to put off for this long. Think you’ll be okay on your own?”_

_S’not a question, no matter how it’s phrased._

_Jensen can hear the hazard._

_“Yes, Tom.”_

Jensen isn’t naive. He’s aware that Tom would never leave him unprotected. Knows, at some point, this dance’ll get back to Tom and he’ll suffer retribution. Knows someone is observing his every move. Never even planned on going, not in the end. He'd wanted to imagine it, feign himself into believing he would get to have the experience, but it wasn't feasible. He wouldn't have _permission_.

Tom’s precious angel.

But then, Tom decided he had _business_ to attend to.

But he’s never done anything like this. Never blatantly neglected Tom’s orders, never done something that he's fully cognizant will infuriate him.

Jensen’s frightened.

The dress shirt is even more green than he remembered. Hugs his body in ways he’s unaccustomed to, curving over lean musculature and lying open at his neck. There’s this dull hope that Chris will find him pleasing. Maybe push his way in between his legs in that awkward teenage boy manner, fumbling with a false sense of certainty.

He glances up as his doorbell rings.

Mara is with Jeff. Mara has been with Jeff more often than not as of late, and this bodes well for Jensen, as there is less suspicion, less violent outbursts. Jeff has whisked her out of the house for various outings for the past few weeks, barely providing Jensen with time to cross into her warzone.

His bruises are yellowing with age now.

Christian is around 5”10, Jensen assumes. He’s not that tall, but he’s got inches on Jensen, not that that’s challenging. He’s got dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.  He always looks perpetually ready to tell a joke, lips quirked in a half smile. He plays lacrosse and crosses social circles with Jared. Jensen’s not sure what possessed Chris to ask him.

The weed makes him paranoid.

“If this is some kind of Carrie shit---“the words leave unbidden, but he doesn’t retract them.

His face clouds over. It’s a handsome face, Jensen notes abstractly.

“We had freshman English together. You uh, you were even shorter than you are now, and you would never look up. Shit you’d answer questions from the teacher lookin’ at your desk.” He shuffles on his feet, face awkward, cheeks pinched. He has never had to explain himself. He’s uncomfortable.

Jensen revels in it.

“So uh, you looked up one day. Class had been talkin’ about Dante’s Inferno. You know, morbid shit. Anyway. You looked up and you weren’t really speakin’ to anybody in particular but man, you finally made some kinda noise.” Chris has got a slow drawl, which, Jensen notes, becomes more pronounced when he’s under duress.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and apparently resolves to plunge ahead.

“You didn’t even think anyone was paying attention to you. Said your favorite quote was by him.” Chris laughs uneasily.

“I’m not a fucking poet or like, I don’t know, emotional or anything, but I remember that you had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. Like fucking leaves at the end of spring.” He’s crimson by now, his word vomit unwelcome.

“You never said another word to me, not even a glance honestly, but I figured, I’m about to graduate, maybe he would uh, would consider goin’ to this shit with me. Cause who else would remember that, and better, who else would fucking tell you?” Chris snorts at the end of his story, wringing his hands out in front of him

This has cost him a lot, Jensen realizes. He has made himself dangerously exposed. Jensen doesn’t remember anyone else doing that for him. Ever.

He smiles then, and it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a proper sense of self-worth, because he’s always had a beautiful smile.

It’s always been a weapon, were he to know how to use it.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

It’s banal to spike the punch at a dance. In fact, Jared speculates if there is any school in the history of ever that has actually done it, outside of a film.

So Jared doesn’t spike it. But if he’s carrying a water bottle filled to the brim with vodka and a flask tucked in his suit jacket, who would blame him? He’s lounging in the corner with the other jocks who are expectantly waiting for their dates to return from the fissure that is the girls’ bathroom.

He’s knocking back covert shots with Chad, the chaperones barely caring enough to make rounds around the room.

He feels like every hackneyed moment in a teenager’s lifespan.

He’s pounding back the vodka, preferring to get rid of that before he moves on to the cheap whiskey that’s burning a hole in his pocket. He can see Sandy at last, weaving her way through the room gracefully, stopping for small talk with her friends.

He wants to pound her body into the sofa in his dad’s den, he thinks abruptly. Chad follows his gaze and lets a slow smirk slide across his face.

“Y’know, Sandy always struck me as a squealer. Like, you hit that one spot and she sounds like fucking Wilbur.”

Jared snorts despite himself, the burn of alcohol making his throat burn. He’s had almost the same thought.

Chad is a shithead, but he’s not much better, and Jared thinks, leisurely, that he’s adult enough to admit that now.

Sandy is suddenly beside him, and he’s strangely perturbed that he didn’t notice her arrival. Chad sniggers behind his hand upon seeing Jared’s face, and Sandy looks instantly skeptical.

“Are you guys drunk already? We’ve been here for like fifteen minutes!” She looks on the verge of tears and Jared isn’t a complete asshole.

“Mildly drunk. Like, pregame drunk.” Jared soothes, crossing fingers in the face of his abject lie.

Chad and his other friend Matt raise eyebrows. They pounded back a case of beer beforehand, not to mention more than a few shots. Jared alone smells like he bathed in the liquor store.

Sandy accepts this deceit as fact and Jared thinks that Sandy hears her own authenticity in everything he says. He doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t know what he thinks about it. He’s unscrewing his flask single handedly, and cursing the bright ass flash of iPhone cameras when he hears Sandy and Alona talking in hushed tones.

“Kane’s here,” Alona intones, voice awakened. Sandy nibbles on her thumb. “Who’d he come with?”

Alona stands on tiptoes to see over the crowd. “That really pretty boy. The one in our Bio class. He like, never talks or looks up or anything.”

Sandy squints. She does that when something confuses her. “The one who sits with Justin Hartley? I heard that group does crazy shit. He’s fucking gorgeous though. I’d kill for his eyes.”

Alona covertly takes a swig from suspect-looking Camelbak. “His eyes? Have you even seen his lips? I _know_ there’s a God now but he clearly didn’t like me enough to anoint me with those babies.”

Jared still feels as drunk as ever but the amusement in his drunkenness has fled. He can appreciate that they don’t sound catty, or malicious. Just curious. And in all honesty, they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true. He can feel his pulse tapping in his temple and he presses a finger to it impatiently.

He’s scanning the crowd for him now, if only to make sure he’s alright. Kane is a pretty good dude. He’s no saint, he fucked Ashley Teeger in the parking lot behind the hockey field last year, but he didn’t spread it around after, either.

He knows when Sandy spots him because she grabs Alona’s sleeve like it’s a lifeline.

“He’s with Chris, talking to fucking _Colton_ ” Sandy hisses, looking spectacularly unattractive.

“Not Haynes,” Alona intones, her entire body slumping with dejection. “Why does he get those lips _and Haynes??_ ”

And Jared’s seeing violence. What reason has Jensen got to be talking to Haynes, of all people?

He peers around Sandy’s taut form and catches a glimpse. He’s seen him in the outfit before, but he’s smiling, and it’s got a good color in his cheeks. And Kane is holding his hand like he’s some precious princess. He’s not looking up at him so she can’t see the fond smile Kane has on his face, a smile the guys are going to give him huge shit for.

Chad whistles, real low under his breath and Jared raises eyebrows to his hairline.

“You’re not even fucking gay Chad!” Jared grits out in a low voice. Chad rolls his eyes. “Bro I can be straight as an arrow and still want that. _Tell_ me you wouldn’t pay to see those eyes looking up at you while he sucked--”Jared elbows Chad in the ribs so hard the blonde snorts whiskey out of his nose.

He’s viciously protective of Jensen, and Jared can admit that under the heavy buzz of alcohol. He’s like a lost fucking lamb or something. He wants to throttle him and lock him away in equal measures. He utilizes his height and scans the crowd for him.

If he can’t see him, how can he save him?

His shirt opens slightly as he inclines his head upwards when Kane leans down to say something to him. He’s laughing really softly, his eyes dancing.

Jared figures they’re always too busy in their game of life and death to ever laugh about anything. The thought makes him bitter. He didn’t ask for that. For that to be the definition to what they were.

It isn’t like the whole room parted for them, there isn’t a spotlight and the vast majority of the student body probably has no idea they’ve arrived. They’re fairly prominent though, and that’s thanks to the fact that Kane is pretty popular and he and Jared run in the same social circles. Which is why he quickly finds himself face to face with both of them, his reaction time shot. Kane is clapping a hand on his back, heavy and bruising, smiling generously into his face. “Bro that was a sick ass goal against Butler the other day.” He’s thick and genuine and Jared smiles right back.

“Thanks man.” He lets his gaze leave Kane and slide down like four feet.

Jensen’s peering up at him, full bottom lip caught tightly in the grip of his teeth. He looks like he would rather be anywhere on the earth than right in front of Jared. His little hand is caught tightly in Kane’s grip and he’s holding on for dear life. Jared disconnectedly attempts to reach for Jensen _(his hand, his Jensen)_ before remembering.

Jared barely stifles a growl at the idea that he might be scared of him, that Jensen might be running, when Jared’s done nothing but right by him.

He straightens his facial expression as quickly as it had affected him and provides Kane with a wink. “Hey man, I got Goose I stole from my mom this morning.” He produces the water bottle and Kane looks appreciative as he loosens his tie. “Thanks. I got some shit from my brother back at my place for the party after.”

Jared nods, resolving to focus on Kane rather than the warm body beside his. He looks for permission from Jared to offer Jensen the bottle.

How childish would it be to shake his head no?

He inclines his head imperceptibly and Jensen grasps the bottle, hands trembling.

Jared can’t stand here anymore.

“Finish it” he demands, his words a careless drawl. Jensen’s eyes widen a fraction and he looks like he’s about to say something, but Kane is already thanking him with a chorus of dude bro dudes and Jared’s walking away, having left Sandy to her own devices for too long.


	13. Chapter 13

Sandy is indeed a squealer.

He likes the fact that he predicted that one.

She’s holding on to the towel rack and he’s wondering if he can pound her so hard it comes loose from the wall. But how would he explain the damage to Kane?

_Fucked my girl in your bathroom. But I turned the sink on during bro, didn’t want to disturb._

He squeezes finger shaped bruises into Sandy’s hips. Her whimpers ratchet up a bit.

He bites real deep into the side of her neck and she fucking screams. He gets a nasty thrill out of that and he thinks to himself that he’s screwing an assault out on her more than fucking her.

She’s keening now and he pulls out and finishes on her back, and you can’t say he’s not a gentleman because he makes sure none of it lands on her dress.

“Did you get it on my dress?” She asks breathlessly, cheeks bright red, knees buckling. Jared tucks himself away, picking up the beer he had discarded earlier for her.

“Yeah, there’s like four spots. But if you hang back and let them dry no one will be able to tell.” He chugs the remainder of his beer to hide his smile at the indignation on her face.

“Shut the fuck up Jared, I swear, that’s the last time I let you do anything to me.”

He adjusts his suit jacket and is ridiculously pleased that he looks more put together than she. “That’s a fucking lie if I ever heard one. I just fucked you over Kane’s parents’ sink. I think we’re past the bull San.” She flushes bright red but responds to the teasing lilt in his voice.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t want you to get a big head. I’m gonna go find everyone, they’re probably wondering where we went” She giggles like intercourse is her own private joke and Jared wants to punch her in the face.

“Sure they think we’re just taking a tour of the house.” He comments dryly, exiting the bathroom before her, because, fuck.

-

He doesn’t hook up with Kane and the thought that he doesn’t makes him feel more defiled than if he had. He’s balanced on his lap and one of Kane’s hands is tangled around his middle, the other cupping his cheek. Jensen squirms a little bit, incredibly drunk and growing lightheaded.

“Shit Jensen, be still” Kane admonishes. He doesn’t mean it as an actual command, Jensen knows, but his body goes still of its own volition, trained into him by force. Kane’s fingers falter subtly in their exploration; he didn’t expect the instantaneous response. Jensen closes long fingers in his palm, letting his warmth seep into his bones.

He’s a nice boy.

He’s bewildered about what to do with Chris now, he doesn’t know what’s supposed to come next, someone else always guided him. The sounds of the party are a dull roar behind them and if Jensen swims through seven layers of vodka he could make out voices. Kane’s talking again, he observes densely, warmth coiled deep in his stomach.

“I’m drunk as fuck” he’s clarifying, as if the tilt he has on the chair isn't enough to clue Jensen in.

Jensen isn’t amazed when he slides gracelessly from his perch. He lands with a slight thump, nestled between Kane’s legs.

He’s extremely inebriated.

Chris has stopped talking, warm fingers curled gently in Jensen’s hair.

“Murray! There’s no fucking reason to do a keg stand butt ass naked.”

Jensen recognizes that voice and he tilts forward, and subsequently sideways, in order to hear it better.

“Your dick will _not_ hit your face if you do a keg stand without boxers on Chad!”

Jensen presses palms to lips, mirth coloring his face and making peals of broken laughter erupt from his mouth. He’s curled up on his side, humor-tears leaking from his eyelids when he’s abruptly turned upright. Giant waves of nausea throttle him full force and his contented tears turn wounded.

“Ah Jesus Jen, I’m sorry.”

The voice above him is more than a little slurred, and big hands, fucking humongous hands my God, cradle his face, sweep over Jensen’s lips and a little bit between them.

And then he’s in the air.

Jensen latches arms around a solid collar and curls legs around the waist of his stranger.

“You’re big,” Jensen garbles. The hands tighten instinctively around Jensen’s waist and Jensen’s head is cradled and pressed into his rescuer’s neck.

“Jen baby, you’re drunk as fuck.”

Jensen doesn’t think the other boy has any room to talk, but he does seem a little bit more reliable than Jensen. Jensen breathes in deeply, trying to abate the dizziness in his head.

“Jared,” he murmurs, rattled mind finally placing his savior. Jared’s arms tighten further, if at all possible. Jensen’s battling a little to breathe.

“C’mon Jen, I’m gonna take you home.” Jared pauses briefly, and Jensen lifts his head enough to see Jared’s eyes swivel towards where Kane is passed out in his parents dining room chair.

“I’ll tell Kane you had to go home.” Jared says this last soothingly, and Jensen’s head falls back down clumsily.

“M’sorry I left the other night. M’sorry I got sick all over you and your room.” Jensen grips Jared’s neck tighter when the taller boy begins to walk.

“Shh Jen, it’s fine, we don’t have to talk about this shit right now.” Minute pause. “You’re probably gonna forget this tomorrow anyway.”

The world around Jensen noisily bursts into animated sound, and Jensen is jostled from his accommodation in Jared’s arms. “Hey man, we’ve got to go through Kane’s cesspool of a living room to get to my car. Just hang on.” Jensen nods lethargically, vodka wiping out any remaining resistance he may have had.

“Chad, man, you know I love your ugly ass but Jesus fucking Christ, put some damn clothes on. For the Love of God.”

“Jay-man. Paddywhack.” Jensen can hear Chad Murray whining, his voice garbled. “What the fuck are you carrying?” A delay in Murray’s speech. “Hey is that Freckles? Tell him I said hey! Tell him--” There’s a scuffle, and one of Jared’s arms is loosened from Jensen’s back.

Jensen can’t help it, he’s exhausted and drowsy and he can’t think straight. He whimpers a little and Jared’s arm is back, immediately reassuring.

“Shut the fuck up Chad. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Mercifully, the noise dies down and Jensen can only hear Jared’s breathing, a little more ponderous because he’s carting Jensen around. He can feel himself being lowered tenderly into a car, and his body immediately leans forward when Jared’s grip on him is released.

He can hear Jared slide behind the wheel and hears the unmistakable sound of a car starting. Feels Jared’s hand pass through his hair and slide down his neck, checking for a pulse.

“Hey Jen?”

Jensen doesn’t know why Jared’s being so attentive, so much more amiable than he usually is.

“Mmm,” Jensen hums in his direction.

“I wanted to know how to get to your house, but you’re fucking trashed dude. Look, we’re gonna go to mine, and we can talk tomorrow morning, but we’re not doing anything now. Alright?”

Jensen doesn’t know if Jared expected him to absorb all of that but he tries valiantly for his sake.

-

Jared’s pretty sure he deserves a degree in carrying Jensen various places. His whole body is heated to the touch, and the liquor has made his face the faint color of coral. Jensen’s clinging to him like a limpet and Jared can’t find it within him to fault Jensen for it.

Jared lays him down, on his bed this time, and a smile creeps onto his face instinctively when Jensen curls up in the fetal position. Jared debates whether or not he should undress Jensen. Knows Jensen has issues and doesn’t want to violate any fucking boundaries.

Fuck.

He’s too fucked up for this shit. Too messed up to make an educated decision about anything.

Fuck it. He pulls a t-shirt from his drawer and strips into it. He pulls another one out for Jensen and pulls his dress shirt off fluidly and inserts him in his shirt without lingering too long. Slacks are next and Jared is proud at his level of efficiency when those come off swiftly as well.

Jensen’s mostly blacked out but his small hands reach out within the haze of his drunken coma and curl around the hem of Jared’s shirt.

Jared’s glad he’s too intoxicated to give any fucks when he climbs into his bed next to Jensen.

He’s about to have a fuck-ton of shit to answer for tomorrow morning. Sober Jared is about to decimate him.


	14. Chapter 14

Jensen’s mouth tastes exactly like moldy bread.

He knows.

His head is most certainly in a tissue and blood filled puddle on the floor. Jensen didn’t think death would take so long, nor be so painful.

He’s not fully awake yet and burrows closer to the human-sized space heater he’s lying next to.

His eyes snap open entirely.

Registers there’s an arm curled around his waist and his head is curved into someone’s neck. Jensen wants to pull away, but some part of him is loathe to move.

“Quit moving Jen.” Jensen’s heart sputters with the nickname. When the fuck did Jared start giving him pet names? Jensen sits up, his hair mussed and eyes blurry with sleep. “Jared, what am I doing here?” Jensen’s pleased that his voice mostly avoids quavering. He rests his palms on Jared’s broad chest and levers himself into a sitting position.

Jensen rubs his eyes with one hand and squeezes his temples with the other. His hemorrhaging brain is causing his insides to roil around uncomfortably. Jared’s fox-tilted eyes slant open and he pushes his long hair away from his face.

Jensen is royally fucked.

-

Jared is ninety percent sure that he isn’t fully awake. If he was awake Jensen Ackles wouldn’t be snuggled _(snuggled, dear Lord)_ next to him in his bed, blinking up at him sleepily like he couldn’t breathe if Jared weren’t here to show him how to do it.

Jared sits up, hangover slamming into him full force and consequently doubling him over.

“You were toppling over in Kane’s lap last night you were so smashed.” Jared flashes him a lopsided grin. “Had to carry your ass out to my car and take you home with me, cause you were too out of it to give me directions to yours.”

Jensen’s face has steadily lost all coloring, and Jared’s actually moderately anxious that he might collapse.

“I’m really sorry Jared, fuck. And you were there with Sandy, she was probably fucking livid that you had to come babysit me.”

Jared hustles himself out of bed directly, missing Jensen’s warmth instantaneously.

Jared peels his sleep warm shirt from his body and scratches at his abs absently. “Well, she _would_ be livid,” Jared mumbles, digging through the pile of clothes on his floor for anything resembling pants, “if I had told her I was leaving.”

Jared thrusts his Nike basketball shorts on over his boxers and shuffles awkwardly to his bathroom.

“She’s gonna murder me,” Jared mutters, more to himself than Jensen.

He was the actual, honest to God, Webster’s dictionary definition of a hit it and quit it last night.

He hears a small commotion in his room, and a slight noise of pain. Jared peers out of his open bathroom door and into his room, only to find Jensen tangled in his clothing graveyard.

The smaller boy is striving to stand up, and subsequently exit the beast that lives on Jared’s floor.

Jared snorts a little and tries to speak around the toothbrush lodged in his mouth.

“Jen, I’ve got a spare for you somewhere…” Jared arches up, digging haphazardly in his medicine cabinets.

He thrusts a toothbrush in Jensen’s general direction and is alarmed to see Jensen standing right beside him.

He’s got on Jared’s old Pearl Jam shirt, the one from the Riot Act album, Jared notes proudly. It’s hanging off one shoulder and so long it’s covering Jensen’s boxers entirely. Jensen picks at the hem of it and clutches the toothbrush in one fist. The sight does something curious to Jared’s insides and he curbs the compulsion to reach out and touch Jensen’s exposed shoulder.

Jared spits and gargles, then turns to him.

“Hey dude, you okay? You look pretty fucked.”

Jensen looks up, green eyes glassy. “I feel like I just got shat out of the world’s smallest asshole Jared. I bet I look fucking gnarly.”

Jared snorts indelicately and leans his hip against his bathroom counter and crosses his arms and feet at the ankles.

“Alright Princess. What do you want to do today?” Jensen pauses brushing his teeth to spit in the sink and scratches at his head. “Are you not about to drop me off at my doorstep? I’m trouble, wrapped in a…” Jensen looks curiously down at his shirt.

“Pearl Jam shirt?”

Jared’s mind falters and then kicks into overdrive, waiting for Jensen to ask how he got the shirt on in the first place.

“Dude, is this fucking Riot Act? Of all the albums, you couldn’t have put me in like, a shirt from like, Ten, or No Code? Weak shit Jare.”

Jared is so caught off balance that he physically stumbles.

“You little shit. I didn’t come home and lay out all of my Pearl Jam shirts and then consult with Eddie Vedder himself in order to decide which album fit you best!”

Jared hip checks Jensen as he exits the bathroom. “Anyway, Riot Act was perfect, cause you were so Help Help last night.”

Jensen’s grin is face-splitting, and Jared’s only seen it that way once before, and he’s ludicrously pleased to have put it there himself.

Jared rummages around for any clean shirts _(Jesus, the laundry situation is becoming dire)_ and sloppily finds one and pulls it over his head. “Jensen!” he hollers through the fabric of his shirt. “Just wear something of mine. I’ll take you back home so you can get changed, then we’re about to do shit today.”

Jared pulls his hair out of his face to see Jensen’s pink cheeks. Jared cocks his head inquisitively but Jensen just grapples with a pair of Jared’s sweatpants and hauls them on over his legs. Jensen glares down in exasperation with the way they cover his feet entirely and continue to drag across the floor. Jensen holds them up around his waist with one hand and shoots an annoyed glare up at Jared.

“This is as good as it’s getting you fucking X-men mutant.”

Jared’s lip curves up in a sardonic smile. “Best you got short stack?”

Jensen’s holding his clothes in his free hand as Jared shoves basketball shoes on and pockets his phone and wallet.

He elbows Jared in his stomach, none too gently, Jared might add, and heads for the bedroom door. Jared’s following close behind, rubbing his ribs protectively, little fucker, and so he almost misses Jensen whisper,

“You’d be Light Years Jared.”


	15. Chapter 15

Jared wasn’t kidding when he said they were going to do shit today.

In fact, Jensen doesn’t think he would mind if they did _less_ today because he’s been dragged all over the city of Santa Barbara and he doesn’t think he’s seen this much of the place since he moved here nine years ago.

Jared is, and truthfully, there’s no more graceful way to say it, dragging Jensen through the crowds of people milling around on Sterns Wharf, _fucking tourists_ , Jensen thinks, unkindly, to some unknown destination. Jensen tugs harshly on the hand enveloped around his, Jared’s probably too damn focused to hear Jensen hollering his name.

Jared skids to a halt, like he’s tethered to Jensen, and angles his head down that obnoxious distance between his face and Jensen’s.

“What’s up?”

Blaze of white teeth as he grins down at Jensen in all his glory, long mane of hair held back by the Aviators lounging dubiously on his head.

Jensen’s got to recollect how to take deep breaths in the face of that laser like intensity.

“Mind telling me where the fuck we’re going?” Jensen huffs, tightening his eyes as he peers up.

“Ah Jen, that’s part of the surprise. Man just stop bitching and keep walking.”

Jensen fusses under his breath. He’s not bitching, he just likes to be informed is all.

Jared presses on through the congregation of people and literally _hoists_ Jensen up onto a deck. Jared silences him with one stern look before Jensen has time to sputter in a disgruntled manner.

“Jared. Jared, are we at a fucking museum?”

Jared’s hazel eyes are glinting in the sunlight, kaleidoscope of green, browns and golds as he grins down at Jensen. “Bet your sweet ass we are!”

Jensen looks away from the sunlight that is Jared and reads the sign. They’re at the goddamned Museum of Natural History. Jensen’s ears flush pink and he’s actually astronomically pleased that they’re here. He spent six months straight in the water when he was five, fully assured that the more time spent there the closer he would get to turning into a dolphin.

Jared’s gone silent, his animation banked as he ascertains Jensen’s emotions.

“How’d you know I’d like this?” Jensen asks lowly, hating himself for even wondering.

Jared’s eyes take on that mischievous glint Jensen’s becoming too familiar with. “Jen, you carry the book The Edge of the Sea to class like, every fucking day.”

Jensen’s face is fucking scarlet, but he’s not left with any time to ruminate when Jared’s propelling him in front of his body and ushering him inside the museum. Jensen’s ashamed to admit that he’s fucking killed by the Living Beach, and he brushes aside the little kids in order to see the tide pool better.

Jared hangs near the back of the crowd, arms crossed over his chest, head shaking fondly.

Jensen feels tall, he’s in an array of ten year olds, sue him, and glances back at Jared feverishly, grin damn near hurting his face.

He and Jared are both way more interested in the BioLab, specifically the bio life cycle of sharks. Well, Jensen’s a little interested in the dolphin one, but he doesn’t need to give Jared _anymore_ ammunition against him, either. Jared’s angled behind him, looking comfortably at the exhibit well over the top of Jensen’s head as Jensen reads excitedly, prattling off facts Jared can clearly see with his own two eyes.

Jensen’s taking the lead now, pushing towards the moon pool, because, it fucking connects the museum to the seawater, and that’s as close as Jensen is going to get to such a controlled environment right now. There’s videos about the Channel, and Jensen’s sure that’s all well and good but he would much rather investigate himself.

He paws at Jared’s hands, willing him to be as eager as Jensen is.

“Jared. It trends east-west. Shit’s like 70 miles long. Man, I know it’s such a fucking tourist trap but we can take boats across it and see the whales, dude. There’s islands too, but I don’t know if I trust you nearby those--”

Jensen breaks off mid-ramble when he hears the tittering of girls nearby. He sees two females standing near two little boys (who look ecstatic over the the science lab) blushing and gesturing in Jared’s general direction. Jensen cocks his head up and behind him, and Jared’s muscular forearms are resting on the panel in front of Jensen, boxing him in effectively.

Jensen feels a little ill.

Jared looks down at him quizzically, pushing his Aviators back up to where they’ve been slipping down all day.

“You alright Jen? Wanna go to something else?” Jared follows Jensen’s gaze to the side, where the girls suddenly become engrossed in watching their young charges. Jared snorts a little and shakes his head.

“Nah Jensen, fuck that. We’re hanging out today man. I didn’t take you here to look at all this shit by myself. Get your head outta your ass.” Jensen pinches Jared in the side to distract him from Jensen’s displeasure at being so blatantly found out.

“Fucking don’t play fair Jen,” Jared huffs, hint of distress pinching up his handsome features.”

Jensen tentatively reaches for Jared’s hand, like Jared’s gonna slap him down. Jared curls his tan fingers around Jensen’s paler one and nudges him forward.

“C’mon Magellan” Jared says, keeping just to the back of Jensen as they leave the room.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Magellan my ass, Jared do you know _anything_ about the fucking ocean at all? And don’t insult me by calling me Magellan. I’m James Cook and that’s the fucking end of that.”

Jared rubs the back of his with his free hand and chuckles so hard he’s got to wipe at the corners of his eyes.

“What?” Jensen pronounces distractedly, head swiveling like a spin-top.

“Should’ve known. The quiet ones are always the fucking biggest nerds.” Jared grumbles.

  



	16. Chapter 16

Jensen’s delivered home half asleep, the sun a burnt sienna in the distance, toes curling unpleasantly with sand. Jensen’s head is knocking against Jared’s passenger door with every bump in the road.

“Jen, move your damn head, gonna give yourself a fucking concussion.” Jared directs, one eye on the road, the other on his GPS.

“S’not so bad. Easiest concussion I ever got,” Jensen mumbles in the cloud of sleep. The car lurches suddenly with that, and Jensen lifts his head blearily to see the white-knuckled grip Jared’s got on his steering wheel.

“You okay Jare?” He inquires, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jared’s eyes coast over to him, and he releases his death grip on the wheel. “Jen, you’ve got my number, right?” Jensen nods lethargically, head toppling to rest on Jared’s shoulder.

“You put it in my phone yourself Jared. Somewhere between the Museum and the Palace Grill” Jensen mutters, just about bone-weary of speaking. Jared nods and pulls up in front of Jensen’s home.

“Hey Jen, we’re here man.” Jensen huddles closer, apparently unwilling to move. Jared turns his car off and exits, opening the passenger door and gently hauling him into an upright position. It’s like muscle memory, hoisting Jensen up into his arms.

Jensen’s front door opens and a man with salt and pepper hair exits, his gait purposeful. His voice is a deep rumble, amusement twinkling in the corner of otherwise stern eyes. “I’ve got him son.” Jared releases Jensen into his arms and ambles there uncertainly.

The man smiles at Jared over top of Jensen’s downy blonde hair.

“You keep an eye on my boy today?”

Jared sputters and pulls himself to his full height. “Uh, yes, yes sir, I did.” Jared toes at the ground sheepishly. “I may have worn him out by dragging him across the whole fu-freaking county. Sir.”

The man chortles at Jared’s almost slip and nods his head respectfully.

“I’ll make sure Jen calls you when he wakes up.” The man smiles again, and it’s more introspective, Jared notices. “Thank you, for looking out for him.” Jared’s brow creases.

How much does this man know?

“No problem sir.  What’re friends for?”

Salt and Pepper guffaws, as if Jared is his own private comedy show. “Alright boy. My name’s Jeff.”  

“And by the way, this ‘sir’ shit’s got to go. Got me thinking I’m in the military all over again.”

Jared’s cheeks burn a little and he dips his head in acknowledgement.

Jared reaches out and reflexively runs his fingers through Jensen’s slumbering head, and the smaller boy moves slightly before relaxing once more.

Jeff’s got an indecipherable look on his face, and Jared’s entire appearance blooms into color.

“Tell Jensen I’ll see him later.”

Jeff nods and turns around on one heel, Jensen protectively cradled in his arms.

Jared sits in Jensen’s driveway for a long time after that, digging his fingernails into his palms and watching the half moons they create fade and reappear.

-

Jensen wakes up in his bed, being strangled to death by his own traitorous sheets.

Jeff makes a noise beside him, probably hoping to alleviate the chance Jensen has to piss himself in fear, but it’s still a close call anyway.

“Jesus Jew Christ” Jensen hollers, blushing regretfully at his blasphemy.

Jeff, to his credit, doesn’t laugh at Jensen’s abject horror, but he does smile conspiratorially down at him.

“That nice boy dropped you off. Tall as a small tree?”

Jensen grumbles. “That’s Jared. He took me on a damn safari through the city today.” Jensen tries to say it unpleasantly, but he can’t disguise the complacency in his voice. “Mhm,” Jeff says noncommittally, and Jensen’s heart rate speeds up without justification.

“Where’s Aunt Mara?”

Jeff’s voice hardens just a fraction and then he replies.

“She’s visiting your mama.”

Jensen deflates.

He’s been a fucking fool. He’s been having the best two days of his life, and, somehow, he obliterated from his memory the fact that his life will _never_ be whole.

Jensen burritos himself in his blankets, breaths coming in short gasps.

Jeff leans forward, face abruptly distressed. “C’mon now boy, none of that. I told your Aunt you were dead to the world this morning when she asked if you were still asleep.”

Jensen squints up at Jeff, air coming a little smoother now. “Thanks Jeff--but I gotta ask, why’d you do that for me?”

Jeff runs one hand through his hair and drags his other one up his leg.

“I don’t really know the extent of you and your Aunt’s relationship, but frankly, I know enough. Wasn’t really sure til I saw that damn bruise on your cheekbone a couple of months back.” Jeff’s face clouds over and his voice cracks a bit. “I’m damn sorry I didn’t see it sooner Jensen. I’m fucking sorry I didn’t cold clock that bitch in the face.”

Jensen recoils back in stupefaction, jaw slack.

“It’s not--Jeff--it’s not what you think--sometimes I fuck up, and I know what I should be doing, I fucking _know_ but I get confused and then--”

Jeff’s big paw settles on Jensen’s trembling shoulder and he pulls the boy into an embrace. Jensen uncertainly wraps his thin arms around the bigger man, huffing shaky breaths out against his chest.

“Now let’s get somethin’ straight Jensen. You don’t owe that woman any apologies. And I’m gonna stick my sorry ass around and take up all that bitch’s time until you’re eighteen and we can get you the hell out of here.”

Jeff pulls back marginally, peering at the soft blond head beneath him. “I can’t do much. You’ve known me for awhile, but I’m not your family, kid.” Jensen shudders beneath him, nodding in agreement.

“You don’t have to tell me what went on, but I’m guessin’ it wasn’t nothing good.” Jensen crying now, eyes shut tightly against the ever-present nightmares that plague him.

Jensen sits up, arms wrapped securely around his middle, glassy, tear-stained eyes peeping up at Jeff.

“T-thanks Jeff. What do you--what do you want me to do?”

Jeff brows lift in bemusement. “Do what boy?”

Jensen gnaws at his lower lip, hands in fists. Is Jeff not going to show him what to do? No one’s ever wanted Jensen to take initiative, but he estimates there’s a first time for everything. He untangles himself from his blankets and glides agilely to the floor in front of Jeff.

Jeff’s light brown eyes look befuddled, handsome brow furrowed with worry.

Jensen’s hands are quivering when he reaches up for Jeff’s belt, and he tries fruitlessly to control it.

“Ah **Jesus** Jensen. **Jesus Christ.** Jeff lumbers backwards until he smacks against Jensen’s closed door.

Jensen coils his hands into fists in his lap.

_Fucking stupid stupid stupid_

_Now Jeff’ll think you’re a goddamned cockslut_

_He doesn’t even fucking want you. He can’t even look at you right now_

Jeff tilts Jensen’s head up and his roughened thumbs push the tears away from his face.

“Jensen, sweetheart, Jensen you don’t owe me shit. I don’t--I don’t want that from you.” Jensen opens his mouth to query what he would like instead, because Jensen’s ass is usually reserved for Tom, and Tom’ll know if someone else has touched it--

Jeff breaks in, his eyes questioningly bright. “I don’t want a damn thing from you Jensen.” He breaks off, standing up.

“Go back to sleep kid, we’ll talk more when you get up.”

Jeff shoulders are bowed in when he lets himself out of Jensen’s room with a soft snick of his door.

Jensen clings to his pillow and has just managed to shudder his way to sleep when he hears his phone make a low dinging sound from his pocket. Jensen pulls it out, indistinctly trying to inspect it while on the cusp of unconsciousness.

His body gives a violent convulsion when he reads the screen.

_Hey baby boy, I’m home. You have a good time?_


	17. Chapter 17

Chad catches Jared unawares and bends him over at the waist and makes a huge production of inspecting his ass. Chad runs his fingertips over Jared’s back pockets and hums in thought, as if he’s conducting a very thorough, very invasive, medical procedure.

“Will you get the fuck off me you fucking dick muncher?” Jared grouses, shoving his best friend back a step or two.

Chad guffaws aloud, throwing his lean body down on Jared’s favorite armchair and popping open the Corona he stole from Jared’s older brother earlier that day.

“My bad Jay-man, just thought you might need some reconstructive surgery after that _reaming_ out Sandy just gave you.”

Chad’s athletic experience, and his overall general familiarity with being a fuckhead has provided him with very agile reflexes, which he utilizes with gusto as he dodges Jared’s very well-aimed fist.

“Kidding man! Fucking kidding!”

Jared slumps down on the couch next to Chad and angrily rummages through the cushions for his X-Box controller.

Chad’s got a pink tongue sticking out of his mouth and he’s playing Assassin’s Creed with a devotion reserved for dogs licking their own nuts.

“Gotta admit,” Chad grunts as Jared locates his controller and syncs it to the machine.

“Your ass has to be like, a little sore. Sandy didn’t even use lube man, just fucking dug right in, like you were Monica Lewinsky and she was Bill Clinton’s dick---”

“Murray if you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll give you a first hand lesson when I break that beer bottle and shove it so far up your ass you’ll feel it try to exit your throat.”

Jared still wants to knock Chad on his ass so hard he’ll contemplate staying there, but he’s a little preoccupied with stalking the target. He’s monumentally pleased with shutting Chad’s smartass mouth for about four seconds, so he doesn’t realize it’s too good to be true.

“What was Wilbur screeching about on the phone though, for real,” Chad inquires, eyes locked onto the screen.

“Huh?” Jared grunts.

“Wilbur. The Squealer 5000. The Fuck it and Muff it.”

“Oh, San,” Jared says between a bout of uncontrollable snorting. “Nah she’s just pissed as fuck cause I took Jensen home during Kane’s party.”

Chad hums evasively.

“What,” Jared questions shortly.

“You just uh, you’ve just been talking about Freckles a lot man. Doing shit for him.” Chad pauses completely, turns to face Jared.

“Got anything you wanna get off your nuts Jay?”

Jared can’t tell if the room is closing in, or his imagination is running away with him.

“About what?”

Chad flings his controller aside and snatches Jared’s out of his hands. “Motherfucker we’re on LIVE right now--”

But Chad seems serious, and a somber Chad comes far and few between.

“Jared man. You gotta know I’m not gonna fucking judge you. I don’t give a fuck where you stick your meat stick, s’long as it’s not up my virgin ass.”

Jared chokes on non-existent spit and presses his head into his forearms. “Chad,” he groans out, so averse to the idea of having this discussion.

“And honestly bro, Frackles had me thinking I might be gay for like, point five. So I feel you man. Big ass eyes and shit. Arms. Whatever you gay guys think is hot.”

“M’not gay Chad, I’m fucking bi. I just want to fuck, man.”

Jared’s beyond mortified. He so didn’t mean to say it as bluntly as he did. Although the blunt approach is usually the only approach to be taken with Chad.

He glances up warily, only to see that Chad is laughing so profusely he’s crossed over into the form of amusement so great, the laughter no longer makes any sound.

Jared punches him brutally on his shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up Murray.”

“I fucking _knew_ it Jay. Fucking Cohen and Kelly are about to owe my ass mad stacks.”

Jared whirls around to loom over Chad.

“You motherfuckers bet on who I liked to stick my dick in?”

Chad raises his hands placatingly. “Don’t make it sound so...vulgar, dude. We took educated guesses on whether or not you were down to love _everybody_.”

Jared cuffs Chad on the back of his head so hard that Chad looks a little acrimonious.

“You deserved it,” Jared clarifies. “And if you’re making money off of me, I want in.”

Chad looks affronted. “Paddywhack. I’m a goddamn gentleman. I already accounted for your cut.”

Jared continues his token grumbling, because it’s expected, but he’s really immensely relieved his best friend knows everything.

“You really like Frackles bro?” Jared doesn’t reply. He’s not exactly sure what the fuck he feels for Jensen, seeing as he never felt this way about anyone before. He tries to contrast it to what he’s got with Sandy, but they’re not even located on the same spectrum.

Chad lumbers on, disregarding Jared’s silence. “You do you man, I got your back. But Jensen’s in with some heavy shit. _He’s_ some heavy shit.”

Jared pops his neck in the silence and looks up at the way Chad’s fiddling with the wrapper on his beer bottle, faced twisted in consternation as he fumbles his way into being a decent human being.

“Y’know Justin Hartley?” Jared nods. Fucking hates the blond douche, but he knows him. “He’s Tom Welling’s half-brother.” Jared’s eyes widen and he dissolves in a coughing fit. He’s never met Tom, Tom is a couple of years older than them, but he’s heard enough about him.

Tom’s where all the bored, upper middle class kids in this county get their drugs of choice. Tom’s got a plethora of guys working for him, but they’re all from out of town, and you never see the same ones twice. Jared’s heard he can get you any illegal substance you want, but his speciality is pharmaceuticals. Welling can have you twisted up on Lamictal and Oxy, at the same damn time.

“What about him,” Jared grits out, his voice rough like he’s been gargling battery acid.

Chad’s hands are clasped in front of him, and Jared feels light-headed, because is the most resolute Chad’s been since he thought he’d get kicked off of the soccer team for his flagging GPA.

“He’s Jensen’s boyfriend Jay.”

Jared stands up so briskly he sends controllers, beer bottles and phones hurtling to the floor.

_“This isn’t your business motherfucker. Just keep going. You don’t know him and you sure as fuck don’t know me.”_

“Jay? Fuck man, you alright?” Jared can hear Chad’s concern, but he can’t heed it. He pummeled Jensen’s boyfriend, fucking Thomas Welling, into the sidewalk, and has been going about his life since. Like he didn’t sign his own death warrant in blood and seal it with a kiss.

He needs to talk to Jensen.

He’s living on goddamned borrowed time.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May contain some triggering elements. Passages in italics refer, respectively, to past events and the thoughts of characters.

Tom gives Jensen to Justin when Jensen’s done something wrong.

That’s how it’s always been.

In Tom’s mind, he can’t share Jensen. No one else gets to see Jensen vulnerable and needy, at Tom’s complete mercy.

Justin might as well be an extension of Tom.

Justin likes it a little too much, Jensen thinks. Likes punishing Jensen, forcing him to take his girth with little to no prep, likes counting his ribs and running fingers covered with engine grease over bruises.

Delights in pressing Jensen down on his stomach, taking him from behind, asking him if Tom ever hits him this deep, if Tom ever makes him see

God.

Jensen cried _so much_ the first time. So hard he couldn’t see straight, and Tom had to come to him directly afterwards, and hold Jensen close. Told Jensen he was so sorry he had to do it, so fucking apologetic, but how else was Jensen supposed to understand how much Tom needed him, how much he fucking cherished him.

_Everything you do matters to me, baby. I just want to keep you safe. You’re the most important person in my life._

Jensen apologized for days.

_Sorry sorry sorry sorry Tom_

_I didn’t know he was lookin’ at me like that_

_It was a group project, wouldn’t have worked with him if I’d known_

_I know, I know I should’ve asked the teacher to switch groups_

_please Tom, I’m so fucking sorry_

Tom hasn’t parceled Jensen off to Justin yet. Tom hasn’t done anything yet. And that’s fracturing Jensen inside more than if he had.

Jensen knows he knows.

_“How’s Kane doing Jen? Saw him at the lax field near the high school. You guys used to hang out, right?”_

Jensen’s sitting on the floor between Tom’s legs while Tom conducts some business on the phone above his head. Justin is on his other side, and he keeps leering down at Jensen with a starved look.

Tom’s voice raises in pitch and he gently nudges Jensen aside so he can step over and around him.

Jensen immediately curls up and hugs his knees tight to his chest. He wraps each hand over one thin wrist and ignores Justin’s presence beside him. Jensen’s mind travels to Jared. Hasn’t talked to him in two weeks, ignored all his phone calls, his text messages.

_Jen, please answer. I’m not angry, I swear I’m not please pick up_

_Jensen goddamnit pick up your fuckin' phone_

_Jen, baby. Please. I just need to hear your fucking voice._

_Jen, are you okay? Has he--have you talked to Tom, Jen?_

Jensen doesn’t know what to make of those. Jared sounds petrified and terror-stricken, collectively. Sounds like he’s about two seconds away from bum-rushing Jensen’s house himself.

But Jensen’s abashed. He’s brought Jared into a battle that was never his to begin with. He’s put the one person in danger who has defended him without presuming he’d get anything in return.

Why’s it so hard for Jensen to exhale without him, then?

Justin’s voices cracks through his muses, dark and monotone.

“Y’know he’s gonna kill you this time, right?”

He says it conversationally, like they’re discussing his goddamn favorite football team.

“W-what?” Jensen is chagrined at the way his voice shakes.

“Kill you.” Justin enunciates slowly, as if Jensen is inept.

“Tom’s going to let you bleed out in front of him. You’re gonna hurt him Jenny. You’re gonna hurt my fucking big brother and he’s gonna cry himself to sleep for years over your ass.”

Jensen scrambles backwards and remembers belatedly that the couch impedes further movement.

Justin keeps talking, his attention on the video game in front of him.

“He loves you. Fucking loved you since he first laid on eyes on you.”

 _“So fucking pretty Jus,”_  Justin mimics Tom’s voice surprisingly well. _“Not a piece of shit like us, man. Jensen’s somethin’ better. Somethin’ good.”_

Justin’s laugh is as dry and matter of fact as the rest of him.

“Broke his damn heart, to fucking know you were out there with fucking Kane and that Padalecki kid. Running around like a two cent whore when Tom’s broken _backs_ for you.”

Justin glances at him for the first time then, eyes a little feral. “You think I get to fuck you for _free?_ Think Tom doesn’t make me _pay_ for that _privilege?”_

Jensen fully clambers away then, his face wet with tears.

Justin has never shown Jensen so much emotion at one time.

“You took my brother from me Jen. He’s all I’ve fucking got left after my mom died. And you fucking had him, you had him and you didn’t do right by him.”

“I hope he makes you bleed. I’ll watch out for him like you never did.” Justin’s breathing heavily, like he’s run an unexpected marathon.

“All you had to do was love him. He would’ve given you the entire world Jenny.”

Jensen can’t stop crying and he’s rocking back and forth when Tom jovially makes his reappearance.

“S’wrong baby?” Tom says, rushing to Jensen’s side and tucking him into his arms. Jensen’s crying too hard to answer, and also, what would he say?

_I’m so goddamn terrified you’re about to slaughter me in my sleep?_

Justin shoots an apathetic glance his way and Tom gazes back and forth from Justin to Jensen with a frantic sort of look in his eyes.

“Justin, what the fuck happened? Is he okay?”

“You hurt baby?” This last is directed at Jensen, and only serves to make him wail harder, because Tom’s so bewildering.

He loves Jensen, he knows, but is Jensen in trouble? Why won’t Tom just punish him already?

Justin shrugs. “You know Jenny, Tom, fucking emotional roller coaster.”

Tom looks like he wants to contest the point, but rationalizes that all he can really do is comfort Jensen.

Tom’s face is buried in Jensen’s hair and he breathes his clean, sweet scent in.

_His precious baby boy._

_Fucking only light in the pit_

_The path to paradise begins in hell._

_Jensen always used to tell him that._

_When Tom’s mom was dying of cancer, and Tom only had Jensen to cling to._

_Jensen is his only paradise. Jensen is his path out of hell._

_And he loves him so much._


	19. Chapter 19

Jared assumes he should feel more guilty that he’s, in essence, stalking Jensen, but he’s shit out of options.

Chad texted him and clarified that Justin went home early, left third period Calc, which Chad grumbled about, and therefore Jensen won’t have a ride home.

Jared’s counting on Jensen not knowing that Justin left early.

He’s not sure where to go from here if this falls through. His ears perk up at the soft sound of footfalls near his hiding spot.

He’s never been so relieved to see a human being as he is when he sees Jensen turn around the corner behind the baseball field, backpack low on his back, gait short and heavy.

“Jensen,” Jared breathes, because there were honestly some unsettled nights where he thought Tom might have finally gone too far.

Jensen’s neck snaps up, and his reaction time is faster than Jared has ever given him credit for. He’s turned tail and ready to flee, but Jared’s taller and more athletic, and he’s also got the adrenaline rush from terror in his corner.

Jensen is pressed into Jared’s side before he knows what hit him.

Jensen is pushing at him, trying half-heartedly to dislodge himself, whimpers ratcheting up a bit. Jared drops to his knees gracelessly, and tugs Jensen’s face to meet his.

“Jen, Jen, Jen, where the fuck have you been? Huh? Got me fucking worried sick. Couldn’t text once? Even to say, ‘leave me the fuck alone’?”

Jensen stops his ineffective struggles and turns his spring-green eyes to meet Jared’s.

“Would’ve, if I’d thought you’d listen.”

Jared’s stung but he doesn’t release the death grip he’s got on Jensen’s wrists. He pushes both wrists into one hand and holds them there, using his free hand to palm Jensen’s face. Jared doesn’t even know if Jensen realizes that he arches into it, closing his eyes briefly as a shudder passes through his small frame.

Jared slides curious fingers over Jensen’s closed eyelids, his nose, the freckles on his cheekbones, his full lower lip. Jared’s thumb drags against it, and it catches fleetingly on the edge of his finger, pushing Jensen’s mouth ajar.

Jared’s leaning in and connecting their lips in less time that takes to blink.

Jensen mewls into his mouth.

The sound makes Jared groan, awakens some primal urge to produce more of those sugar-sweet noises from Jensen. Jared releases his wrists in favor of crushing Jensen’s body against his more fully. He wraps long arms around Jensen’s slight waist and he can feel Jensen curl hesitant arms around his neck.

Jared loosens one arm and uses his unoccupied hand to handle the back of Jensen’s head, fingers captive in Jensen’s velutinous hair.

Jensen’s dripping saccharin flavored sounds into his mouth, his body trembling on an exhale as he lets out a bona fide _whimper_ into Jared’s lips.

Jared pulls away with a great deal of lamentation, and immediately captures Jensen’s face between his larger hands. Jensen looks absolutely licentious, his lips tumescent and puffy, and Jared runs his thumb over them again, unable to look away from the debasement he has wrought on Jensen’s face.

As soon as Jared’s thumb departs, Jen sucks his lower lip into his mouth with an audible pop and Jared groans, his hips twitching forward of their own accord, pursuing relief.

Jared exhales, lowering both trembling hands to Jensen’s waist and gripping him there, non-verbally commanding him not to leave.

“Jen, baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry but I’ve been scared out of my mind, you know? And you didn’t answer my fucking calls, or my texts, and all I could think is, what the hell am I gonna do if Tom’s--if he--Jesus _Christ_ Jensen.”

Jared hasn’t cried since his dog Marillion died, but he’s leaking tears like a fucking fire hydrant, and Jensen’s reaching up his hands and petting Jared’s face and cooing into his ears like _Jared’s_ got the right to be afraid.

“Ah, Christ, Jare, I didn’t want Tom to come after you, I didn’t--didn’t really think you’d take it so hard.”

Jared's tears falter then, and he upturns angry hazel eyes so that they meet Jensen’s limpid green ones.

“You think I’d just say, fuck it, hopes he makes it out of this one alive?!”

Jensen looks like a deer caught in headlights, gnawing his lip even more swollen, eyes luminous.

“Thought I would just let you go, no fucks given? Fuck! Jensen, I don’t know what the fuck I feel half the time. I’m up, I’m fucking down and I certainly don’t know whatever this is I feel about you.”

Jensen lowers his eyes, reflexively grips the hem of Jared’s shirt.

“But Jen, Jen, look at me sweetheart, you’ve got me. You got me locked up. I don’t know what’s going on and fuck, I’m terrified. But I’m too damn scared of you getting hurt, or not being able to protect you. Just--just work with me Jensen.”

Jensen’s face crumbles and then he’s pressing his cheeks into Jared’s neck, full on sobs wracking his body.

“Jared, Jared, I don’t have any idea what to do. Tom knows---he knows everything, and I’ve just been waiting for him to do it already, I don’t want to be terrified anymore, I just--I just want it to be over--”

Jensen’s hiccuping too hard to talk any further, and Jared doesn’t know what to do.

He relapses to his fail-safe and picks Jensen up, the same way he did the night of Kane’s party, and deposits him into his car.

“We’re gonna go to mine Jen, okay? We’re gonna sit the fuck down and figure this shit out. We’re gonna have a conversation and you’re gonna tell me _everything_ alright?”

Jensen’s nodding and sniffling, little nose burnt red and looking like the most precious thing Jared’s ever seen in his life.

Jensen looks like sin and salvation and Jared’s about to burn in Hell, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take everything Jensen’s offering.


	20. Chapter 20

Jensen’s enthroned on Jared’s knee, and Jeff is sitting across from them, gently cleaning his old butterfly knife with a rag.

Jeff hasn’t said anything since Jared badgered him for Jeff’s number, called him from Jensen’s phone, and drove them straight to his house and pulled Jensen in alongside him.

Jared did most of the communicating, mostly because Jensen’s been too nerve-wracked and Jared’s more proficient with people and words.

“So, you mean to tell me, this goddamn tapeworm, degenerate piece of shit, has been fucking beating Jensen within an inch of his life?” Jeff snarls, whole body gone rigid.

Jensen can’t help it, he curls up further into Jared’s chest. Logically, he knows that Jeff isn’t furious with _him_ but he doesn’t know how to react to outrage, to acrimony.

Jared’s arms come up possessively, and Jensen turns his head to hide the small smile that erupts on his face due to the unconscious act.

Jared doesn’t even slow down with his soliloquy.

“He’s been so fucking scared, and I would’ve come to you sooner sir--” Jeff growls, “Jeff, sir,” Jared stutters and continues. Jensen tugs one of Jared’s hands into his lap and bites down on his lip. Jared cards one hand through his hair and uses his free hand as a restraint around Jensen’s middle.

Jensen feels like he can breathe for the first time in three weeks, with this stupidly tall boy who’s got him adorned on his knee.

“He wouldn’t even tell me, Jeff. Shit. I’m a fucking asshole too because--I beat Tom up once, for Jen, and I didn’t even follow through. Jeff, I fucking--I fucking thought it was over with, that I handled it.”

Jeff’s face doesn’t waver and his eyes pass over Jared to the pitiful way Jensen is clinging to him.

“Jen.” His voice is softer, when it’s directed at him, but still books no debate.

Jensen sits up, turning around in Jared’s lap to face his surrogate Uncle.

“Jensen, you gotta tell me everything you know about this motherfucker. Now, make no mistake. I’m gonna handle this one way or the other, but it’ll be smoother if I have all my ducks in a row.”

Jensen’s faces pales, but he opens his mouth anyway and grips his hands together to keep them steady.

Jared leans down to rest his chin on Jensen’s head. “Start from the beginning Jen. I swear to God I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jensen clears his throat.

“Gonna try to make a long story short guys, but it’ll probably be longer than I fucking want it to be.” Jensen looks down at the table and Jeff makes a big production of flipping his knife through expert fingers, gaze never oscillating.

“I met Tom when I was fourteen. My friend Sarah Tanner invited me to this party with her, and I...she was nice to me, and I was getting better, things weren’t as bad...then. We get there and she sees the guy she likes so we split up.” Jensen smiles ruefully at the memory.

“She felt so fucking bad too, at the time.” Jensen grips Jared’s hand compulsorily, and Jared can tell he’s going to try and rush through this part of the story.

“I got hammered. I didn’t know anyone, and I’m kind of...shy, I guess. But I was trying to figure out how to get home, but I wasn’t sober enough to find Sarah. Shit, I don’t even know where I would’ve looked.” Jensen looks grim. “Luckily, I ran into Tom.” Jensen flushes, striving to hide his mortification.

“God, I was so damn fucked up, and he said so many things...said he’d fucking take care of me, called me the prettiest thing he’d ever goddamned seen.” Jensen can hear the growl rumbling deep in Jared’s chest, and knows he’s exercising a lot of self constraint so as to not unleash it.

“He took me home. He took me home and he made good on his fucking promise to never let me go. You know the drill. He was nice as shit at first. Took me places, introduced me to his friends, shit like that.”

Jensen takes a deep breath.

“Then his mom got cancer. Shit, ovarion cancer. Fucking ravaged her, I mean, it took this woman, this bright, just, beautiful woman, and fucking destroyed her. Tore Tom apart. He was always real possessive, always controlled where I went and what I did, but I figured, hey, he’s just looking out for me.”

Jensen drops his head into his hands. “He told me I was his light, I was the only reason he got up, could make it through the day, and he’d do anything to fucking preserve that, preserve me.”

“It got really fucking bad then. I couldn’t _do_ anything, and anything I did, it was fucking wrong. When I messed up, and God, I messed up a lot--I couldn’t do what he wanted, he would let--he always let Justin take care of me, Justin got to _discipline_ me and I fucking tried to learn, I wanted to do better but I didn’t know how and it _hurt_ it hurt so goddamn bad--”

Jared spins Jensen’s whole body around on his lap and tucks his head directly under his chin.

“Think you’ve got enough Jeff?” Jared’s voice is lower than Jensen can remember it ever getting and he’s befuddled as to why it sounds so frosty.

Jeff’s combat boots scrape against the floor as he stands. Jensen can’t look at him. Can’t face his disdain and detestation.

“I’ve got everything I need to work with.” He pauses, and Jensen can feel the magnitude of Jeff’s gaze on him.

“Jared, you’re responsible for my boy. You make sure no one touches a hair on his damn head from this moment on.”

Jensen can feel Jared’s whole body move when he nods his affirmative.

“You got my word on that man.”

Jeff suspires, deep from his stomach.

“Jensen, he says, cautiously.

“Jensen, your Aunt’s leaving for Copestone tomorrow morning. Your mother’s coming home for a visit in a few days. I just wanted you to be prepared...for that.”

Jeff’s presence lingers, then fades as he departs the room, providing them with much needed privacy. Jared tilts Jensen’s face up.

“That gonna be a problem, Jen?”

Jensen’s all talked out. He _can’t_ tell Jared anymore right now, he’ll fucking run for the hills, and Jensen can admit that he’s too greedy to let him go just yet.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, Jare. Just. Lemme have tonight, okay?”

Jared hums above him, pressing soft kisses to Jensen’s scalp.

Jensen’s mother’s coming to kill him, all over again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit.

_Mack’s looking up at him, and she’s had a visit from the tooth fairy recently, ‘cause she sporting a giant gap in her mouth._

_“Sen,” she begins rather seriously, stuffing the remainder of her Fruit Roll up in her mouth._

_She’s four years old._

_Jensen’s six and three quarters, almost seven._

_“Sen,” she begins again, mouth blue, purple and green._

_“I wanna go, one thime. Pwomise I won’t askth again.” She’s got a bad lisp. she had one before she lost her tooth, but now it’s twice as pronounced._

_Jensen sighs melodramatically._

_“Mackenzie,” he begins, rather seriously._

_“It’s for big boys. Jason and I ‘scovered it together and you can’t go.”_

_Mack’s whole face turns beet red, and Jensen knows she’s about to starting wailing at the top of her lungs._

_Jensen’s not fast enough to stop her before his mother hears, and hurries in their direction._

_“Jensen!” She reprimands. “What did you say to Mack?”_

_“Nothin.’ She’s just a big crybaby.” Jensen replies sullenly, eyes narrowed in his sister’s direction._

_“Am not!” She hiccups, lower lip wobbling. “Sen won’t lemme thum ‘splorin’ his hidey playth.”_

_Jensen opens his mouth to scream her ears off. It’s his place and now she’s ruined it!_

_His mother looks skeptical and admonishes him. “If Mack can’t come, it must not be safe for anyone to go there.”_

_Mack looks abject, her bright blond hair sticking up in all directions, but Jensen doesn’t care._

_She’s ruined everything._

Jensen hurdles himself into awareness, entire body covered in a cold sweat. Jared wakes up beside him, less conscious, but still cognizant that something is bothering Jensen.

“S’wrong Jen?” His voice is sleep muddled, and Jensen takes four deep breaths before he rolls on his side to face his bedmate.

Jensen is frightened of sleeping alone, misses Jared’s warmth when he isn’t nearby.

“Baby. Go back to sleep.”

Jensen can’t. He’s too alert, and he’s hard, but he can’t tell if that’s because of his proximity to Jared or the remaining adrenaline from his memory-tinged dream.

He can tell the exact moment Jared notices it, because his voice becomes far clearer.

“Jen?” He whispers, uncertainly.

Jensen lays his head on his chest.

“M’Sorry Jare, I didn’t mean--it’s hard being this close to you--”

Jensen is rolled over and underneath Jared so quickly he gets mildly dizzy.

Jared’s shirtless and he looms over Jensen’s body, and Jensen is suddenly, blindingly, hard.

He’s hyper aware of where their skin touches (Jared’s wrists to the sides of Jensen’s head) and of just how much _larger_ Jared is than Jensen.

Jensen knows his eyes are wide, but he’s not sure what Jared wants.

One thing he does know, is that he wants Jared to take it from him.

Jared’s not tentative when he leans his muscular body down in an imitation of a push-up and presses plush lips to Jensen’s. Jared nips at his bottom lip, pulling it out and away from his upper lip and Jensen mewls.

He’s got less than point five seconds to be embarrassed about it, because Jared’s responding growl is too much to handle. Jared snakes his tongue inside when Jensen makes a noise and starting mapping out his territory like he owns the place.

Jesus, Jensen wants him to fucking erect a flag, ensure people know that everything is Jared’s.

Jared levers himself gently down to rest on Jensen’s body, and Jensen can feel how hard he is underneath the thin fabric of his basketball shorts. He rubs against Jensen’s dick with surety, and Jensen arches up against him instinctively.

“S’right baby, get yourself off on me.” Jensen gets a full body chill when Jared speaks, whole being thrumming with the desire to do whatever Jared asks of him.

“Fuck, pants, baby. Take em off for me.” Jensen bows his body off the bed and shimmies gracelessly out of his pants, his erection popping out to bob in the cool air. He’s fucking wet all over, the tip of his dick glistening with fat beads of pre-cum.

Jared makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat.

“Prettiest dick I’ve ever seen Jen,” he murmurs, right before he bends his body and slides the head right in his mouth.

Jensen cries out, body shuddering helplessly.

“Jared--please--fuck Jared, please, do anything--”

Jared releases his warm, suction like grip on Jensen’s dick and smiles, a feral grin in the darkness of his bedroom.

“What do you want me to do baby? Anything you want, just ask.”

Jensen’s whole body is tinged pink, and he’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to ask for. Just knows how to let people take.

Jared must have a sixth sense, because he slides up the bed and hushes him.

“How bout this. I name some things, and if you want ‘em, you say yes or no.”

Jensen nods vigorously. He can play this game.

Jared looks like a hunter when he smiles.

“You want me to turn you on your stomach, open that ass and just fucking bury my face inside your asshole? Fucking eat you out til you’re humping my sheets, you’re so desperate to come?”

Jensen’s dick visibly jerks at that.

“I’ll take that as your yes, baby.”

Jared spins him over and jerks his hips into the air, all in one fluid motion. Jensen feels exposed, completely naked while Jared’s still in his shorts. It gives him a small thrill.

Jared leans down reverently, breath ghosting across his exposed hole as he parts Jensen’s cheeks.

He blows on the wrinkled furl and Jensen presses back instinctually. Jared’s laughter is a low rumble behind him.

“Not yet baby. Lemme look at it. Just wanna look at how fucking pretty it is.” He licks a long stripe from his ass to his balls with those words, and Jensen _keens._

“Baby, baby, baby, don’t wake up my parents.” Jensen’s flushed. He can do better. He can do anything, so long as Jared doesn’t stop.

It’s like Jared unlocked the floodgates after that. He presses his face deep inside and prods with the tip of his tongue. He stabs at Jensen’s hole like his tongue is a small knife, nipping and sucking alternately, and Jensen’s ass crack is damp with Jared’s spit. He nibbles on the rim like a starving man, and Jensen is actually crying, and humping Jared’s face as quickly as he’s able.

Jared comes up for air.

“Hold your ass open for me baby.” His voice is no more than a growl at this point, and Jensen balances on his cheek and puts his hands behind him to hold his ass open to Jared’s covetous gaze. He can see Jared discard his pants as he sits up, and Jared’s dick slides angrily into view, shiny at the tip, and bigger than Jensen’s in every regard.

And Jensen’s no slouch, he thinks proudly.

Jared’s hand is curled around his shaft, stroking up and down in languid strokes, twisting a little at the head.

“Look at the goddamn show you’re giving me Jen. All stretched out on my fucking bed, face down, ass up. Just fucking begging me, aren’t you?”

Jensen nods so hard the friction of his face against Jared’s blanket stings his cheeks.

“M’begging you Jared, you’re right, you’re right.” His voice is more breathy than he would like, and he’s pretty sure he’s crying.

Jared turns away from him to dig frantically in one of his drawers. He makes a triumphant sound and then he’s back, jostling Jensen so hard from his position, that he let’s go of his ass and falls forward on the bed.

“Put your hands back Jen, fucking wanna see that ass.” Jared’s demanding and unyielding now, and Jensen recognizes the cold squelch of lube before he feels one slick finger encircling his rim.

Jared slides in like a knife through hot butter and Jensen rocks back against it, mewling deep in his throat, making little _unh unh unh_ sounds, breaths coming in pants.

“C’mon baby. Fuck yourself on my finger. If you don’t do a good job, might be all I give you.”

Jensen rocks back desperately, whining in increasing volume.

“Please Jared, I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be _your_ good boy, please fuck me--please--oh _please_ ”

Jared swears lowly and grips at the base of his dick with one hand.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ Jensen. Fucking be my good boy,” he praises, offering Jensen a second finger to join the first.

Jensen feels a little more full, and his cries become sharper when Jared begins to scissor him in earnest. Jared’s making small grunting noises behind him, and he’s stopped speaking for the moment, as if he’s concentrating. Jensen feels his middle finger brush up against that bundle of nerves and his body convulses so uncontrollably he momentarily dislodges Jared’s fingers.

“Oh no you fucking don’t” Jared snarls, wrapping his muscular arm around Jensen’s waist and _dragging_ him back onto his fingers, three, this time.

Jensen’s rocking back so hard, he’s moving Jared’s body along with his.

Jared’s speaking filth above him, a rosary of sin and inequity.

“Yes, fuck yes, Jensen, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to see your fucking asshole stretch around my fingers, c’mon baby, that’s right, keep fucking ‘em.”

Jared pulls his fingers out so abruptly that Jensen topples forward on the bed, breathless. He can hear the snick of the lube cap and the gentle _slap slap_ of Jared coating his dick with it.

“Jensen.” Jared’s voice sounds strained, and Jensen lifts his tear-stained face up enough to catch Jared’s eyes.

Jared’s entire body is taut and firm, well-defined six-pack leading down to the happiest of trails. His arm is sinewy and right now it’s got a death grip on the base of his diamond-hard dick.

“Jen,” he grits out once more. “Jen, babe, you gotta tell me if you don’t want this. If you aren’t--comfortable with this. You tell me no and we stop this shit right now.” He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Jensen, you tell me yes and I’m gonna fuck your ass into that mattress and send you right back to sleep.”

Jensen’s whole body trembles and he lets his head flop back down.

“Want you to come put that goddamn _monster_ inside me.” Jensen wiggles his ass as temptingly as he can, and then Jared’s arm is back in his vice-like grip around Jensen’s waist, and he’s raising his ass in the air.

“Going slow,” he grunts, and slowly begins feeding Jensen his dick.

Jensen’s so fucking _full._

He can feel Jared vibrating behind him, entire body focused on impaling Jensen.

He bottoms out with a growl, balls gently slapping against Jensen’s ass.

Jensen is shaking, the pain dissolving into a dull ache as Jared remains motionless.

“C’n I go Jen?” Jensen groans.

“Please, Jared--please fuck me--”

Jared grips the pale globes of his ass, one cheek for each broad palm and delivers a resounding smack to each before he pulls almost all the way out, Jensen’s rim catching on the tip of his dick, before slamming home.

“Fucking mine, my ass, my fucking hole, everything about you’s mine!”

Jensen wails, Jared punching keens out of him with every thrust.

He pulls at Jensen’s hair, pulling his neck up and back, so Jensen can only see Jared’s ceiling.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me--” his hips stutter “tell me you’re good for me. Fucking perfect for me.”

Jensen's crying, fat tears sliding down his face as Jared deliberately avoids his prostate while he waits.

“Y-yours. Yours Jared. Fucking your good boy, c’n do whatever you want--b’long to you.”

Jared hisses and grabs onto Jensen’s hips in earnest, searching out his prostate and unerringly hitting it once he finds it.

“Fucking come on my dick,” he chants, “come for me baby, fucking come”

Jensen hasn’t had a hand on his dick since this all began, and his balls are tight against his body.

His whole body is tight as a bowstring, and then he’s coming, untouched, Jared’s big hand snaking down between them to grip him and stroke him through his climax.

“So fucking pretty Jen, fucking work of art.”

Jensen collapses under Jared’s weight and falls directly into the wet spot, but he’s too satiated to care. Jared continues to pummel him on the way down, growling filth right up until he pauses imperceptibly, and comes, warm and wet in Jensen’s ass.

Jared pulls out, a slow as he can, and leans down to inspect his handiwork.

“Jesus,” he breathes, nibbling at Jensen’s rim and catching his own cum with his fingertips and feeding it back into Jensen’s asshole.

Jensen whimpers from his position higher on the bed and Jared chuckles, a darkly satisfying thing.

“M’sorry baby, I meant to do that slower, take my time, but I had you naked in my bed.”

He runs his fingers over Jensen’s kiss-swollen lips. “Fuck, Jen, when you look at me with those eyes and then I see that ass, shit I can’t make complete sentences man.”

Jensen eyes slip shut of his own volition and he stretches on his stomach like a cat, unintentionally arching his ass again.

Jared groans and climbs back into his bed, crawling over top of Jensen to get to his side.

“Baby put a goddamn blanket on, I can’t fucking sleep next to that all night.” Jensen complies, smile hinting at the corner of his lips.

Jensen’s dragged into the little spoon, his sore ass nestled comfortably against Jared’s softening erection.

Jensen can barely remember his dream, and he certainly isn’t conscious enough to hear Jared whispering

_i love you i love you i love you_

into his hair as he drifts off.


	22. Chapter 22

Jared’s restless. He’s always prided himself on being able to have good boundaries while in a relationship.

Fuck, he could go _weeks_ without talking to Sandy. But not being with Jensen, especially after last night, has got him antsy in the worst way.

Jared smiles privately to himself, recalling this morning, before he bundled Jensen up and took him home.

_Jensen’s firm little ass presses back against Jared’s morning wood, propelling him to wakefulness and reminding him of exactly what he’s got in his bed._

_Jensen’s not fully awake, but his body is, humping backwards in smooth semi-circles, little whimpers trickling from his sleep-heavy throat._

_Jared wants this beautiful boy beside him, and grabs onto Jensen’s hips, stilling his motions. Jensen shuffles into awareness, shining green eyes searching out Jared._

_Jared presses lips to Jensen’s and thrives on the pretty way Jensen opens beneath him, legs falling akimbo and inviting Jared in._

_Jared’s panting when they separate, and Jensen looks debauched, dick rock solid already._

_Jared already knows they can’t, but he let’s the tip of his index finger seek out Jensen’s little hole anyway, and they both moan when they realize he’s still sloppy and loose from last night._

_Jensen rocks forwards gently, insatiable thing, and sighs._

_“M’so sore Jared,” and his voice is irritated and fond at the same time._

_Jared preens when he hears that._

_“Fuck, baby, I wanna make it so you can’t walk.”_

_Jensen’s naked body flushes and Jared thinks he could get used to seeing that every morning. Loves making Jensen color._

_“Already trying to kill me with that mutant cock,” he grouses, unconvincingly._

Jared snaps to, remembers where he is. He’s thankful it’s cold in Chad’s basement, and he’s wearing a hoodie, hiding how he’s chubbed up nicely in response to his memory.

Sandy, Alona and Gen are huddled together in one corner, shooting Jared full on, weaponized dagger glares.

Chad, Kane and Matt are hurling obscenities at Zombie mode on Call of Duty. He quickly realizes that he’s sitting in the middle of his friends like a fucking loser, and he ambles over next to Chad.

Chad looks up at his arrival and grins.

“Good to see Puppy boy has returned to the land of the living.”

Jensen reaches to cuff Chad’s head which he evades nicely, of course.

Jared reaches for a stray controller in order to sync up.

He really has missed his friends. He’s not too keen on whatever Sandy and her minions are cooking up for him in their lair of doom, but whatever it is, he figures he deserves it.

His mind wanders back to Jensen involuntarily.

He was scared shitless this morning, and wouldn’t say a word to Jared about it.

Jensen’s terrified to face his own mother.

-

Jensen hasn’t been alone, in a room, with his Aunt in a little over a month. It’s astounding to him how well Jeff has infiltrated his life, and kept all of his promises.

His Aunt is looking over at him, gaze hard and speculative, lips pursed in a thin line.

“Jensen,” she begins, and it seems as if she’s deliberately attempting to be less cruel than usual.

“Jensen, your mother is about to come out of that room and try and have the first full conversation she’s had with you in--”

Mara’s voice pauses, clearly trying to recall when the last parley took place.

“Nine years,” Jensen offers, pleasantly taken aback at the firmness in his tone.

Mara’s face twists with grief and vexation, and she curls bony fingers underneath her chin.

“Do _not_ cause a scene.” She charges him.

Jensen keeps his back ramrod straight as he hears the door open behind him. He can hear her soft tread and he’s reminded, brutally, of all the times he could hear her footsteps but couldn’t see her.

_Mommy_

_Mommy, please_

_Mommy it hurts, please please please_

She taught him how to beg, whether she ever admits it or not.

She’s in front of him then, her cheeks more sunken than he remembers, blond hair more grizzled with grey.

She reaches for his hands but he drags them out of reach impulsively.

He _can’t._

He sees Mara narrow her eyes in his direction, but he’ll take a beating. He doesn’t give a fuck.

He cannot touch this woman.

“Jensen,” she whispers, reverence and devotion coloring her voice.

“Hey,” he offers, because he can’t call her his mother. She discarded that role a long time ago.

She’s shaking.

“How’ve--how have you been baby?” Jensen wants to die.

He wants to claw out his own organs and hand them to her. Scream in her face, “Isn’t this what you wanted? Didn’t you want to see me disintegrate?”

“I’ve been fine,” he says, stiffly, stilted.

She makes an aborted reach for him once more, almost as if she can’t quite help herself.

“I miss you, so much Jensen, baby, I just want to be a family again, I just want you to--visit me sometimes, talk to me about things.” Her voice is quavering and Jensen presses palms to the sides of his head.

“Stop stop stop,”

he hears himself murmuring and he’s fully aware that Aunt Mara is going to make him pay, going to turn his life into a slideshow of fractured bones and contusions, but that’s pain he’s accustomed to.

Donna’s eyes are a little frantic now, and she’s crying, at her wits end.

And they’re both wailing, and this is so _arduous_

he doesn’t know why anyone thought it would be feasible.

Why anyone thought he could _handle_ it.

Donna stops crying, precipitously.

“Sen, baby, where’s Mack? She upstairs? I haven’t seen her all day.”

Jensen’s face contorts, voice guttural as he cries out, physically backs away from her.

“Don’t you fucking call me that.”

He takes a glance over at Mara and her features are warped. She doesn’t know how to answer either.

Mara clears her throat, eyes frenzied. “Mack’s not here right now, Mack’s with--she’s with her daddy.”

Jensen doesn’t know if Donna hears the minuscule pause in her sister’s voice, but she does smile, a radiant thing, clear and placid.

Mara takes her sister by the arm, and casts Jensen a fleeting look. She doesn’t look as hostile as he would have expected, but she does look just as perturbed as  him by the turn of events.

Mara pilots her from the room, voice a mollifying rumble.

Jensen’s knees buckle, and his body slumps as he reaches heedlessly behind him for his chair.

He knows, innately, that there’s a reason his mother is locked in a mental facility, and has been for the past nine years, but he’s never had to confront it before.

Never had to look in his mother’s face and see the void there, the little enclave within herself where it’s ten years ago, and Jensen and Mack are her only concerns.

_“Sen, I’m sowwy. I didn’t fink Mama would care!”_

_“Stop followin’ me Mack! I wanna be alone!”_

_He can hear her heavy footfalls, heard them before she spoke. She’s four, she can’t move stealthily to save her life._

_‘“Pwease, Sen, I’m sowwy!”_

_Her voice is reaching plaintive howls at this point, and Jensen’s hurrying along at an accelerated pace now._

_He found the abandoned pier when he and Jason were playing military around the outskirts of the house one day. It’s set up on old rickety stilts, and it wobbles a little bit when it’s stormy out._

_It’s stormy a lot this time of year in the Outer Banks, and Jensen was the best explorer because he was the one who found it._

_He crosses on to the the wooden planks, breaking into a run, wanting to put as much distance as he can between himself and Mack._

_He can hear his sister running behind him, and he’s begrudgingly proud of her because she's absolutely terrified of heights._

_“Sen,” her voice is unsteady, and sounds remote._

_“Go back to Mama if you’re scared,” he calls harshly._

_It’s his spot._

_He can hear her diffident steps, and then time declines to a lag, when he hears several things in succession._

_He hears the crack in the weak eleventh slat, he and Jason counted and he forgot to tell her--he didn’t TELL her and then her bloodcurdling scream pierces the air._

_“SEN!”_

_Her voice is so high, and he turns swiftly to her, running, his pace breakneck_

_but he’s not quick enough because her foot is tangled and she’s off balance and then she’s falling._

_Flash of golden hair like the sun_

_There are rocks down there._

_“MACKENZIE!”_

_and for the longest moment, as he’s tearing back to his house at full tilt, screeching for his parents with every available exhale,_

_he wishes to God it’d been him._


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggering elements. One of the most difficult things I've ever had to write.

Jared wishes he were less bitch-made.

If he had even a solitary knob in his spine, he probably wouldn’t be cornered in his own bedroom, all 5’3 inches of Sandy glowering at him.

He sniffs surreptitiously. Does his room still smell like sex?

He can still hear the phantom echo of Jensen’s keens.

Sandy’s eyes are watering suddenly and Jared cups a broad hand under her chin.

“Ah, San, what’s wrong?”

She slaps his hand away, nails stinging a bit where they break the skin.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses, heated glare down at her face.

“Wanna clue me in on what the fuck your problem is San?”

Sandy’s face crumples, just like that, and she’s sits heavily on the edge of his bed, pretty chestnut hair spilling over her creamy shoulders.

“I just wanna know what he has that I don’t. We’ve been dancing around each other for years, Jare. I’ve always been _there--_

her breath catches and she shudders.

“Just, why him and not me?”

Jared temples are pulsating as he sits down right beside her, deep sigh emanating from his chest.

“It was never like that, not with us San, and you know it.”

She looks up, eyes blazing, opens her tiny pink mouth to screech.

He holds up appeasing hands, backing away an inch or two.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say that we’ve never been that serious. San you’ve sucked my dick in this room so many times, let me fuck you in _several_ different ways,” his mouth curves up lasciviously.

She remains unconvinced.

“But neither of us made any effort to make it something real. Talked about what the fuck we might, or might not, be.” He bites at his bottom lip, uncomfortable in the extreme.

“San, you’re only mad cause I’m not fucking around with you exclusively anymore.”

Sandy presses balled up fists to her eyes.

“I waited for you, you goddamn moron.” Her voice is more gentle than he’s ever heard it, every syllable sounding like it pains her to release.

“I tried to pretend I was _fine_ with it. Fucking whatever Jared, we can fuck around. I’m cool, you’re cool.”

She looks up, wild-eyed, and her makeup is a little smudged and he’s fucking taut with fright.

“I’m so  _stupid_ too because I thought it meant something. You had every girl fucking banging on the door to suck your dick, but you chose to stick with _me_. All those fucking scouts and all that ass.”

She’s cracking her knuckles in the silence.

Her laugh is watery now and Jared didn’t know it was possible to actually _feel_ like the scum of the Earth.

“And y’know,” she exhales sharply, she’s on a fucking roll now, “y’know, I thought we were really getting somewhere too. Fucking asked me to the dance, acted like my goddamn boyfriend.”

She’s standing now and Jared doesn’t know if she lulled him into false sense of security or what, but he’s under attack.

“And then Jensen fucking Ackles breathes in your direction, and now you’re a one bitch kind of guy. Fucking **what does he have? What the fuck does he have?”**

Jared knows enough to understand that this is rhetorical, and to keep his mouth shut.

“He’s goddamn worthless, fucking drug dealing boyfriend, high as a kite in Bio with Justin goddamn Hartley, who the fuck is _he_ to take you away from me?”

Jared’s heard enough. She’s pacing but Jared’s seeing black.

“What part of ‘you never had me,’ do you not understand? You wanna know why I fucking love Jensen? Why he means more to me than you can ever fucking comprehend?”

Sandy’s mouth is agape, color flooding her snarling features.

“Cause he gives a fuck about people like you. Was concerned that you’d be mad cause I took him home after Kane’s cause he was too fucked up to function. Didn’t give a rats ass about himself, when everything in his _life_ is more important than you.”

Jared’s breathing like a freight train.

“You fucking selfish _bitch_. You can be pissed at me all you want. I get it. I fucked up. I went about a lot of shit wrong and I gotta take responsibility for that.”

Jared takes a cogent pause, stepping right up in Sandy’s space, eyes boring right into hers.

“But you leave him out of this. He’s a better person than you or I will _ever_ be, so you keep his goddamn name out of your mouth.”

Sandy’s face is blanched, and he barely has the stomach for the tears that are dribbling down her cheeks. She rotates to face his doorway and flounders thickly before she exits, clicking the door shut behind her.

Jared listens to her footsteps withdraw and remains standing in the middle of his room, body tense with scarcely camouflaged rage.

-

Jensen wishes he had a car. He wishes he had a car so he could drive straight to wherever Jared is and bury himself deep where no one will ever find him again.

As it is, he calls Jared fourteen times before he gives up and barricades himself in his room.

He dimly thinks that the ringing of his phone is in his imagination and almost misses Jared’s call.

Jay’s voice is breathless when he picks up, words tinged with panic.

“Jen, baby what’s wrong? You called so many fucking times!”

Jensen can only let a shuddering sob out, press his fist to his mouth and cry into the phone.

“Please come get me Jared,” he stutters out, impressed with the fact that he was able to make a coherent sentence.

He can hear Jared’s keys jingling, hear the minute his car starts.

“I’m fucking coming Jen. Stay on the phone with me.”

Jensen nods, remembers Jared can’t see and whispers an affirmative.

Jensen’s never so happy as he is to bound down his stairs and out his front door, ignoring his mother and his Aunt calling out for him.

They’re in the foyer, having tea, and it’s Donna’s last full day here.

Jared looks like he’s about to get out of the car to envelope Jensen in his strong arms, but Jensen slides into his passenger seat and hoarsely asks him to drive far, far away.

Jensen doesn’t even pretend to be an adult when they’re safe in Jared’s room, and he laughs mirthlessly when he realizes that the place he feels the safest is in the bedroom of his eighteen year old boyfriend.

He has never more appreciated the fact that Jared is not cautious when he knows he wants something.

Jared scoops him up with agility and settles with him onto the pillows of his bed, Jensen’s head pressed under Jared’s chin.

He’s murmuring nonsense into Jensen’s hair, and Jensen’s got a death grip on Jared’s waist.

“Wanna talk about it?”

And Jensen wants to say no, but he’s so _tired_ of not discussing it, of pretending it never happened.

“I killed my little sister.”

Jensen falls for Jared that much harder when Jared doesn’t so much as tense up, doesn’t cease his ministrations on Jensen’s back, warm breath still ghosting over top of his head.

“Gonna need some details here, Jen.”

Jensen nods, throat thick.

“I was seven, she was four. We lived in the Outer Banks, I don’t know if you know where that is, but it’s near the ocean, in North Carolina.”

Jensen takes a deep breath and plunges ahead.

“I had this hiding place, kind of like a secret place me and my friend discovered one day. Shit was cool back then, just this sketchy looking pier that was real high off the ground, y’know, over the ocean, with gnarly looking rocks underneath.”

Jensen’s laugh is toneless as he continues. “And shit we used to play cops and robbers, military, fucking everything there. But Mack,” his throat closes up and it becomes impossible to speak.

Jared’s fingers run through his hair. “S’okay baby, keep going.”

“But Mack, she’s like four, y’know, she wanted to come too. Hang out. But I didn’t want my--my mom to know cause it was kind of suspect. Shit was decrepit. Falling apart.”

“Anyway, Mack tells my mom about it when we’re arguing cause I wouldn’t let her tag along. I was fucking pissed man, I ran away. Didn’t know Mack was following me until we got closer to the pier, only then I didn’t give a fuck cause she’d already ruined the damn thing anyway.”

Jared’s arms have tightened around him, his body rigid now.

“She’s just fucking _apologizing_ y’know, fucking calling my name, she called me Sen, cause she couldn’t say Jensen when she was a baby.”

“Fucking hollering for me. I can still hear it when I sleep. ‘Sen, I’m sorry, I didn’t think Mama would care.”

Jensen’s outright crying now, his breath coming in little chuffs, tears coating his cheeks, his lips.

His voice is hardly audible, head dipping low against Jared’s chest.

“Jared I wasn’t _looking_ at her, I--I told her to go home if she was so scared.”

“Then I heard a creak, like a crack in the wood, and it happened so goddamn quickly, I remembered I never warned her about the loose board, she was never supposed to even be there--and then I’m too fucking far away from her and I can see her stumble, see her leg get tangled in the slats and she’s off balance.”

Jensen can’t get any air in his lungs at all but he’s determined to finish.

“Fucking watch her fall. Hair’s like sunlight Jared, and the last thing I ever hear my sister say is my name. Fucking screams ‘Sen’ at the top of her lungs. And I’m supposed to help her, I’m supposed to save her but I wasn’t fast enough Jared--I couldn’t get to her in time and the last thing she heard me say was ‘go home if you’re scared’ Jesus--Jesus, Jesus, **Jesus** \--”

Jensen realizes his sounds are compounded with someone else’s and the top of his head is damp and he discerns that Jared is _crying_

Jared, the strongest person he knows has been reduced to tears, fucking hanging on to Jensen like he’s his only lifejacket.

“Ah Jensen,” Jared chokes out, and Jensen has never heard him weep before.

“Ah, baby, that’s not your fault. You were _seven_ Jensen, you didn’t know--you didn’t know she would follow you man, you didn’t know--you were a child Jens, you couldn’t _know--_ ”

Jensen grips his hands into tight fists in Jared’s lap, nodding listlessly.

“I know. I’ve heard that so many goddamn times. And I guess, in some way, I get that. I didn’t know. But fuck, Jared, I watched her _die.”_

They sit there then, sniffles and Jensen’s wracking sobs permeating the air until Jensen feels brave enough to continue.

“I ran back home, it was like fifteen minutes away, and I knew that was too long--but what else could I do man--”

Jared kisses the top of Jensen’s head repeatedly, his murmuring continuing unabated.

And it’s then Jensen realizes that Jared’s murmurs are actually words, and he’s been praying

 _i love you i love you_ into Jensen’s scalp this entire time.

“We drove out there, whole neighborhood, my--my dad carried me in his arms, and my mom--God screaming for Mack at the top of her lungs. All the cops, ambulances, the fucking news Jare.”

Jensen is quiet, spent.

“They found her body, few weeks later.”

Jensen hooks his arms around Jared’s waist again.

“And nothing was the same, after that.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggering elements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested: A breakdown of Marine terminology/slang
> 
> 1st Civ Div: First Civilian Division, usually applies to Marines that are about to be discharged, or about to retire. Becoming a civilian.  
> Boot: brand spanking new  
> Back on the Block: Acting like a civilian  
> 4th Battalion: Disparaging name for a weak individual/unit, a coward(s), if you will. "he/she belongs to the 4th Battalion."  
> Brigadier General: A one star command post in the Marines. Permanent rank. Must be confirmed by the President, Secretary of Defense and a Senate majority vote.
> 
> If you have any further questions that I didn't cover here, feel free to comment.  
> Random Marine knowledge finally coming in handy.

Jeff joined the Marine Corps when he was 21 years old, and still relatively wet behind the ears.

Got promoted like lightning, found himself peaking at Brigadier General when he was 50, and quickly realized if he stayed, they’d keep promoting him til his 64th, and he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

He retired at 56, completed the five years of his tour and shipped out, not seeing the point in lingering when there were younger bucks to pass the gun on to, so to speak.

He’s two years out, and he misses it, suffice it to say, and he would probably come back were he asked, but he’s mostly content.

 _Was_ mostly content, until he discerned that he could _never_ sit back and let injustices be perpetrated.

He’s sitting across the table from Aldis Hodge, a boot Captain, badge still squeaky clean, who’s quirking his eyebrows up as Jeff levels with him.

“You do know what you’re proposing is illegal is so many ways, Sir, don’t you?”

Jeff can’t train Hodge to stop calling him sir, but it’s in the blood, and Jeff is the highest-ranking officer Hodge has had a sit-down with in years.

“Humor me boy. I want it to be neat. Clean.”

Hodge steeples his fingers under his chin, drags palms against his slacks.

“That won’t be a problem Sir, only thing I’m concerned about is timing. When’s the calmest time of day in this neighborhood?”

Jeff grunts as he stands and crosses over to his open bar, offering Hodge scotch on the rocks.

“Bout six in the afternoon.”

Hodge nods thoughtfully and then snorts. “Course, this is what’d you’d get up to, gettin’ assigned to 1st Civ Div.”

Jeff guffaws outright and has the grace to look repentant.

“Man’s got to do something with his time. Y’know?”

Jeff looks at his hands momentarily and makes a waving motion with his hand. “Parker didn’t want to come and join the festivities?”

Aldis grimaces and his kind voice turns into a snarl. “That bastard was trained in the 4th battalion, and you know it.”

Jeff’s only response is a slow sigh, he’s not surprised.

Hodge surprises him though, lips quirked in thought. “Carlson’s been assigned to 1st Civ Div though, and last I heard he’s back on the block, going through life without a care in the world.”

Jeff smiles, a savage thing.

“Well, then, why don’t we give Steve a call.”

-

**Two weeks later**

Jensen’s got to go alone.

Jared wants to come with him tonight, doesn’t want him to see what Jeff’s got planned by himself, but Jensen has to do this.

Jeff said he was the only one that could come.

_Wouldn’t normally take civvies, but this ain’t exactly war, and right now, we ain’t exactly Marines._

“Jare,” he says crossly, massaging his temples.

Jared raises his eyebrows sardonically. “Anything else I’m forbidden from doing? Or am I here to be your bitch boy?”

Jensen’s face creases in pain at that.

“Fuck Jared, if you see that shit it’ll change you. Only reason I’m going is because I gotta sack up and do something for myself. And I’ve already seen the worst there is. This’ll be a walk in the fucking park.”

Jared exhales, “Man, I know that. I just don’t want to see what it does to you, after.”

Jensen’s head hangs, cumbersome and remorseful.

“I know baby, but--I think I can get through this one. Pretty sure I’ll be okay.”

Jared smile is bitter, and it doesn’t overtake his eyes.

-

Tom lives alone.

Well, Justin lives there too, but when Justin’s mother died in a car accident not long after she married Tom’s dad, the Welling’s were all Justin had.

Tom’s parents had been divorced for a while, but when his mom died of cancer, the strain of losing two wives in such rapid succession drove Mr. Welling to drinking. Profusely.

He’s located in a rehab facility just downtown, his fifth stay in two years.

So.

For all intents and purposes, Tom lives alone.

Jensen hasn’t been told the full plan, and for that he’s grateful.

_Jensen, you only got two things to do._

_Be quiet as fuck._

_That means no screaming man, we don’t do screaming._

_And don’t touch a damn thing._

_There **will** be an investigation and we want it clean as a whistle in here._

For how blunt Hodge is, Jensen likes him a lot. Likes the little ghost of laughter that pops up when he finds something amusing.

He’s not laughing right now.

Jensen’s flanked on either side by Hodge and Carlson, who are the definition of stealth.

They’re in fatigues, which seem more burdensome than they apparently are.

Jeff is in the front of the triangle-shaped formation, and Jensen feels painfully like a civilian.

Jensen thinks that they’re going to scale Tom’s trellis and perhaps duck and roll over the concrete in his backyard, but he quickly realizes that this isn’t a recon mission and these are civilians they’re dealing with.

Jeff picks the lock of Tom’s front door and slides in sideways and backs into the wall, making a hand motion that Hodge responds to.

Carlson maintains his position with Jensen while Hodge creeps forward.

“Moonbeams at the ready, Sir,” Hodge intones, flicking his flashlight on.

“Carry on,” Jeff instructs, peeling himself from the wall and continuing on in front of Jensen.

Climbing up the stairs is slow going, and Jensen points to both bedrooms and indicates which brother resides in which.

Hodge opens Justin’s door soundlessly, Beretta 29 trained on Hartley’s sleeping form.

Jeff motions for Carlson to stand guard in front of Welling’s door and indicates that Jensen should remain close to Hodge.

Jeff removes his Glock 19 from his fatigues and checks to see that his silencer is fastened securely.

He nudges Justin awake with it and clamps a gloved hand on his mouth as soon as he drifts up to consciousness, prohibiting any screams.

“Scream and I murder you right now.”

Justin is ruthless and can recognize the seriousness in Jeff’s tone.

Justin’s eyes are wide when they land on Jensen.

“Jenny, what the fuck is this?” Justin whispers hoarsely.

“Wrong thing to say motherfucker,” Jeff drawls, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“See, here’s the part where you apologize to _Jensen_ , tell him you’re sorry for raping him over and over again, and how you can’t _wait_ to make amends for the rest of your sorry ass life.”

Justin’s mouth is gaping and he resembles a fish.

“Jesus! Jen--Jensen I’m fucking sorry man, I know I did some fucked up shit but, man we can work through this. I just had a hard time of it lately man, shit’s been rough. I’m goddamned sorry for everything Jensen!”

Justin’s hyperventilating, hands tangled in his sheets.

“That was real nice, Hartley,” Jeff praises, resting his free hand on top of Justin’s head.

“Too bad it’s too fucking late to do any good.”

Jensen’s never seen speed like he witnesses here tonight. Jeff jerks Hartley’s head back and upright, pressing the barrel of silencer against Justin’s forehead and pulling the trigger.

Justin didn’t have the chance to blink.

His brains are splattered on his headboard, and to a lesser extent, on Jeff’s cammies.

It didn’t register to Jensen to scream, and he turns when he’s directed to, walking towards Tom’s bedroom. Carlson steps aside to let Jeff enter first, and then maintains his position at sentry.

Jensen’s heart starts to batter his ribcage, and he knows what’s going to happen and he feels it’s evenhanded, equitable, even, but it’s difficult to reconcile because he’s been trained to love Tom so much, and for so long.

Jeff follows the same pattern he established in Justin’s room.

The only difference is, when Jeff lets go of his mouth, Tom’s eyes are filled with perfidy.

“Why, Jen? Fucking why?”

Jeff decks Tom right in the face, pain blossoming across his handsome features.

“You don’t speak to him.”

Jeff genuflects toward Hodge, and Aldis comes up on Tom’s other side, and together they force him into a standing position and then drag him down his own stairs.

Carlson and Jensen make up the rear, and Steve briefly squeezes Jensen’s shoulder before he releases.

Jeff and Aldis tie Tom securely to his dining room chair and gag him with a thick rag.

Jeff relaxes infinitesimally and smiles ferally in Tom’s direction.

“Tell us about yourself, Thomas.” Tom makes aborted noises behind the gag, eyes swiveling everywhere and lingering on Jensen.

“Cat got your tongue big boy? Alright then, that’s fine. I’ll tell _you_ about yourself.”

Jeff cracks his knuckles.

“ Big man on campus. Mom gets sick. Nice lady. Loved you. You latch on to the only good thing in your life, brightest piece of hope you got. My boy here, my Jensen.”

He looks at Jensen fondly, and Jensen ducks his head.

“You make him be your light. You force him to give you his goddamned soul, and free will, and his fucking hope, cause you were so damn greedy for him. You needed something good, because she didn’t leave you with anything else.”

Tom’s crying, and Jensen’s only seen him cry once before, when his mother passed away.

“You thought, if you kept him locked up and controlled him, he’d only shine for you.”

Jeff leans forward, elbows perched on knees.

“I got news for you Thomas. It don’t work that way. You broke my boy. You made him hate himself even more. Made him think he ain’t have a goddamn purpose but to be your personal punching bag. Your bitch.”

Jensen’s eyes are welling up. He’s been this person for so long, he doesn’t even know if he disagrees with Jeff.

“You’re not gonna be allowed to do that anymore Thomas. Not to anyone, and especially not to Jensen. You don’t deserve any redemption.”

Jeff stands up then, bones creaking in the dead air.

He pulls out his butterfly knife, the same one he was cleaning when Jensen first disclosed everything to him and Jared.

Hodge stiffens beside Jensen.

Jeff kneels, whistling quietly, and lines the blade near Tom’s right kneecap.

Jeff gestures to Carlson and he comes up on Tom’s other side and takes a firm grip on his left shoulder.

“Don’t tense up big boy,” Jeff mutters, and that’s all the warning given before he jams the blade a third of the way in and twists, dislodging Tom’s kneecap with an audible pop.

Jensen’s never heard anyone scream like that before.

Jensen’s motionless, thinks this is the most stoic he’s ever been in his entire life.

Jeff pats Tom with a heavy hand on his dislocated knee.

“T’wasn’t so bad, now was it? Just needed a little _discipline_.”

Jeff hums his way to Tom’s other knee, and he and Carlson switch sides.

Tom’s shaking his head and making distressed keens behind his rag, but Jeff’s having none of it.

“Be still,” he admonishes, and dislocates the opposing knee.

Tom’s sagging in the chair, body convulsing with the amount of neurons firing at his pain receptors at once.

Tom’s wails diminish, ensuingly, and Jeff levers himself upright with a sigh and removes his gag.

“Got anything to say?”

Tom looks deranged, he’s got to be in so much anguish, can barely pry his jaws open to speak.

“Jen, I fucking”---he winces--”God, I loved you so much”--his body spasms, beyond his control--”fuck, you were supposed to be my everything-- **you were supposed to love me!”**

Jeff positions himself behind Tom’s thrashing body, and Hodge moves imperceptibly, halfway blocking Jensen.

Jensen speaks, for the first time that evening.

“I was never supposed to belong to you.”

Jeff bears down on the back of Tom’s head with his silencer, and pulls the trigger efficiently.

Tom seizes once, in his death throes, then drops completely.

Jeff rolls his neck, and then stretches.

“Let’s clean up. We’re done here.”


	25. Chapter 25

There is an investigation.

Jared hears of it firsthand from Chad, whose father is Chief of Police, which Jared has always maintained is suspect due to the fact that Chad is a degenerate of the first order, but Chad’s information is always reliable.

And it’s allowed them to get away with more not-so-clandestine parties than they should be able to at this age.

Chad and Jared are in Chad’s backyard, and Jared’s dominating him at hoops.

_It’s a bitch sport, any guy can throw a ball into a little net Paddywhack_

But Chad flops down carelessly on his cement driveway and dramatically exaggerates his level of exhaustion, chugging Gatorade as if he’s been through a two hour practice.

Chad squirms onto his back, huffing towards the sky.

“Y’know they couldn’t find shit at Welling’s house, when they investigated.”

Chad rolls over, conspiratorially, little blue eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“Huh,” Jared acknowledges, pretending negligence to the entire affair.

“Yeah man, overheard my old man talking on the phone, and he said it looked fucking professional. Nothing but brain matter. No sign of forced entry. Jack shit.”

Chad places his arms behind his head and sighs.

“If only I coulda seen it. Bet it was fucking dirty. Heads blown clean off.”

Jared is intrigued himself, but he’s heard it straight from the horse’s mouth twice now, so he knows what an adept job it was.

“I bet. Fucking Black Ops levels.” Jared replies, sitting with his knees pulled up, sweat-sticky hair curling around his neck.

“Don’t take this the wrong way you giant bitch, but do you think Jensen had anything to do with it?”

Jared’s been anticipating this question, and doesn’t so much as cringe.

“Jensen man? I’m with him 24/7. Wouldn’t hurt a fucking fly. Not to mention, where the fuck would he get the kind of firepower to blow someone’s brains out?”

Chad whoops in amusement, shaking his own head. “You’re not lying man, he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

Chad sends Jared a sly wink before rolling out of reach. “In fact, the only bone he’s got in his body is you, if you know what I mean.”

Jared is lurching forwards, default response to hit Chad before he falls flat on his chest and remembers Chad’s preemptive roll out of his arm span.

“Such a fucker Chad.” He grumbles.

“Where is the little dude anyway? Dude’s knows more Metallica trivia than I do, and that shit’s admirable, lemme tell you.”

Chad rockets himself into a standing position and reaches down a hand for Jared.

Jared hauls himself up strictly harder than necessary and Chad sways a little on his feet.

“He’s hanging out with his Uncle, I think,” Jared says cautiously, not sure how much the cops know about Jensen’s ‘Uncle Jeff.’

Chad inclines his head in acknowledgement and jerks his thumb in the direction of his house, conversation clearly finished for now.

“Video games are getting so damn realistic, Jay. You can tell the cup sizes on the hookers in Grand Theft Auto now!”

Jared really doesn’t know why Chad continues to act so aggrieved when Jared clouts him in his head.

-

Jensen’s mother has called him seven times since she returned to Copestone three weeks ago, and Jensen has screened every single one.

Mara drank herself into oblivion the day after Donna left, and cornered Jensen, her words slurred and bitter.

_“I know you think I hate you,” she intones, grasping on to Jensen’s arm as she sways on her feet._

_Jensen instinctively catches her by the waist, guides her to the foyer._

_“I don’t hate you, Jensen.”_

_“I hate what loving you has done to my sister. My family. You’re all I have left and you aren’t even whole.”_

_“No matter how young, facts don’t change Jensen. You did this to your family. To your sister.”_

_Jensen flinches at the admission, but he can’t say he’s taken aback._

Mara sobers up with a vengeance the next day, and she doesn’t say a word about her confession.

Jensen already knew she held him responsible. He can’t find it in himself to blame her.

Things are slowly, but surely getting back to normal, and he’s grateful, because he has Jared now, and that’s the closest he’s ever been to absolution.

So he should’ve known it would all go to shit.

He makes the first mistake, which is picking up a call from an unlisted number.

“You have an incoming call from the Wake Correctional Center. Press one to accept this call.”

Jensen’s finger is hovering--he doesn’t _have_ to do this, but he hasn’t had a call from him in so long--

he presses one.

His father’s voice comes through the speak then, tinny and whiskey rough.

“Jensen?”

He offers, voice just as smooth and implacable as it was when he was five years old and Daddy was Superman.

“Dad.” He replies, subdued.

“Your mother’s been calling me round the clock, talking about how you won’t talk to her, won’t look at her. What the hell, boy?”

Jensen grips his phone real tight in his hands, til the color fades and it’s bone white.

“I’m busy, lately, and it’s not good for her--for her to talk to me. She keeps asking about--about Mack.”

His father’s sharp intake of air is Jensen’s only cue that he’s listening.

“You listen to me Jensen. You _owe_ that woman. You owe me. But you can’t pay me right now, not like before, and I miss my baby girl Jensen.” He raises his voice, Jensen jerking the phone away from his ear at the bellowing sound.

“I fucking miss my daughter!”

The automated voice breaks in, repeating the name of the prison, and Jensen presses end, phone slipping from his grasp in his hysteria.

Should’ve never picked up his phone.

Should’ve died nine years ago.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggering elements. Retract previous statement. Hardest thing I've ever had to write.

Jensen’s nightmares have started again.

They dropped in frequency once he told Jared about Mack, once he confessed his worst secret.

He still wakes up trembling beside Jay though, rambling nonsense about redemption and the fires of hell.

Tonight’s no variance, but the nightmare has changed, one he’s blocked out for the past six years, one he’s had innumerous hours of court-mandated therapy for.

_And he’s alone, or so he thinks, seven years old, Ninja Turtle pajama bottoms soaked with urine_

_One sock quite a bit higher than the other, his left sneaker significantly more worn than the right._

_Her hands are clasped behind her back and she faces the window, the crack of her knuckles the only indication that she isn’t made of stone._

_And it’s the only sound in the room._

_At first._

_He’s scared and he’s peed himself, he wets his bed every night, has ever since Mack went tumbling off the pier._

_He hears her scream SEN every evening, and he’s learned to wash his own sheets and clothes cause he doesn’t want Mama to know._

_Doesn’t want Mama to give him that blank look, stare listlessly out the window like she’s doing now._

_Doesn’t want her to look up, all confused and ask him where Mack is, why she hasn’t come to dinner, why she and Jensen_

_just won’t play nice?_

_His daddy walks in, gait heavy and lumbering, favoring his right leg over his left like he’s done since his motorcycle accident._

_Runs thick fingers through his hair._

_Looks down at Jensen._

_Jensen feels so dirty. He’s wet all over and his daddy is gonna yell._

_Alan kneels, eyes never wavering from Jensen’s face._

_“You know how much I miss Mack, don’t you baby?_

_Jensen’s little face contorts, doesn’t know why his daddy is bringing it up._

_Jensen’s lower lip trembles._

_“I know daddy. I know and I’m so sorry daddy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it--”_

_Jensen is crying all over, snot and tears mixing together._

_Alan nods. “I know Jensen. Doesn’t change the fact that someone has to keep this family together. It’s so hard for your Mama, without Mack.”_

_Jensen nods, towhead bobbing._

_He’s so confused but his Daddy is right--everyone’s been so sad, Mama won’t talk and Daddy’s like a ghost._

_His Daddy stands then, grunting, hands going to his belt, unlooping it and dragging his pants down to his ankles._

_Jensen’s confused. Does Daddy have to use the bathroom?_

_His Dad’s boxers come off and Jensen’s only seven but he knows that’s not right. Knows his Daddy isn’t supposed to show him... **that.**_

_Jensen backs away and his little spine hits the wall too hard and he cries out. His Daddy drags him forward, pushing Ninja Turtle pants down his legs, jerking them off over his sneakers and discarding them-- throwing him onto the carpet, and his legs are tangled and his Daddy is grunting--making words--_

_“Hold still Jensen, it’ll be over once you hold still.” Jensen starts crying and he looks in the corner where his Mama is, and she’s watching, but she isn’t moving._

_Why won’t she move?_

_Jensen’s on his tummy and it hurts cause the carpet is making his chest red._

_His Daddy won’t stop talking over him_

_“Why’d you lose my baby Jensen? My beautiful_ _little girl? But oh--oh you’re my precious boy. I love you so much. We’re gonna make it better. You and me baby---just--”_

_Jensen’s **screaming** so hard the veins in his head are throbbing because something is inside of him, and it’s going to kill him, why is Daddy trying to kill him?_

_“Mommy!” He screams, voice wailing._

_“Mommy please please please, Mommy make it stop it h-hurts”_

_His Mother blinks, eyes focusing, but she’s immobile._

_And after awhile the pain bleeds into an ache and he can hear his father grunting, petting his hair, and Jensen can’t feel his legs._

_He makes little aborted gasps of air against the carpet and counts all the tiny repeating faces of Donatello, Michaelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo on his pajamas, where they lay abandoned by his head._

_There are seventy-eight that he can see._

Jensen’s huddled in Jared’s arms even before he’s fully upright, and Jared is cupping his face, sleep warring with unease.

“That was different than usual Jen.”

His voice is matter of fact. He won’t take Jensen’s denials anymore, not after everything they’ve been through.

But this _is_ different.

Jensen is filthy.

He presses his body into Jared’s and feels the hard outline of his dick beneath his pajama pants.

Cups the length in his hand and lets his fingernails glide across it. Jared’s hips hitch up and then he’s got both hands around Jensen’s wrist and he’s growling.

“You’re not gonna distract me with sex Jen. What the fuck is going on?” He looks wounded.

“What else are you hiding from me?” Jensen bites his lip raw, so fucking mortified. “C’mon, baby, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Jensen chuckles at Jared’s optimism. It’s the optimism of a child that’s been safe all his life. A child that’s never faced any tragedy.

Everyone’s got it all wrong. Jensen’s never been anyone’s light. It’s all Jared.

“My Dad was so torn up--when Mack died--and you know my--Donna’s in the hospital. She’s practically comatose.”

Jensen frees his wrists from Jared’s preemptively, just in case Jared doesn’t want to touch him after this.

“I used to wet the bed....for the year after Mack died--and I got up to wash my sheets, I did it every fucking night, didn’t want to get caught--but that night--that night he came in the living room, and Donna was there and she wasn’t--she wasn’t there y’know?”

Jared is gripping his sheets, face impassive.

“Told me he missed Mack _so much_ he just needed to keep us all together. Fucking pulled down my pants man--” Jared’s off the bed like a light, vibrating with tremors, and Jensen’s so weak, he reaches out for him even though he knows he’s going to face rejection.

“Not now Jensen. I could kill right now so--so stay there baby. I can’t be calm right now.” Jared’s like a bloodhound, a pitbull hooked to a very thin leash.

Jensen holds himself around the waist, continuing.

“He was doing it--did it--right in front of her--and I remember just screaming, asking her to make it fucking stop--and she looked at me, one time during the whole thing, like she remembered who I was--but she didn’t move a goddamn muscle.”

Jensen draws his knees up to cover his face.

“She let him do it, all the time, after that. Never got easier. Went on for a year til I was eight and one of my neighbors heard me screaming.” Jensen stops, considers. “You’d think it’d get easier, over time, to scream less, but I never did follow directions well.”

“Took me away, put me into protective custody, moved me here, to be with my Aunt. Sent him to prison, and my mom to Copestone. Thought it would help her--to be closer to me. Help her recover.”

Jensen smiles ruefully. “She never mentions it. It didn’t happen, in her head, I don’t think. I don’t talk about this. Don’t think about it.”

Jared’s fingernails are bleeding and Jensen’s dismayed to see he’s gnawed them to the quick.

“Baby don’t do that, stop.”

Jared won’t be deterred, but he does clamber up next to him and squeeze him so tightly Jensen knows it’s not for his own benefit.

“I think--I think I hate her so much because she’s supposed to be my _mom_ y’know? First line of defense. But she never stopped him. Never helped me. Fuck, never even told someone else so _they_ could help me.”

Jared breathes into his hair.

“You were seven goddamn years old. You were a child and he fucking mutilated you. I ever see him, I ever get _near_ him, I’m going to prison next, cause I’m gonna fucking annihilate him.” Jared’s focused and Jensen knows he’s barbarous. Seen his temper enough times.

Jared presses him down into the bed and kisses him firmly.

“I love you Jensen Ackles. And no one’s gonna take you from me. You’re mine and I belong to you.”

Jensen flushes, freckles popping out against fair skin.

“Love you too Jared Padalecki.”

Jensen doesn’t add that no one has ever belonged to him before.


	27. Chapter 27

Jared gets scholarships to Northwestern, Notre Dame, Duke and Berkeley, respectively.

Other schools offer him partial scholarships, and Jared’s family isn’t poor but Jared would rather they not spend a dime on him if he can prevent it.

Jensen knew he was talented, has to been to every one of his boyfriend’s games, but he’s not embarrassed to admit he doesn’t know jack shit about how the scouting opportunities work.

Jensen’s not as gifted as Jared, he knows, and he only applied to a handful of schools.

He knows Jared is apprehensive to talk to him about college, but Jared just turned nineteen a month ago, and Jensen will be eighteen in another two weeks.

Knows Jared will try to go with him wherever he wants.

Jensen needs Jared to think about himself, this time.

Jeff’s said he can move in with him, or they can go somewhere new.

_I’m a Marine, kid, I’m flexible._

Jensen is sitting cross-legged on Jared’s bed, weighing Jared’s acceptance letters in his hand. Jared and Chad are on the other side of the room yelling at FIFA, and Kane is in the corner plucking away at his guitar.

Things were awkward with Kane, for awhile after the dance, and Jensen knows Chris still harbors feelings for him.

He glances over at Kane with that thought and finds the long-haired boy studying him.

It doesn’t help that Jared is a caveman and feels the need to practically scent-mark Jensen around Kane.

Jensen’s got a soft spot for him, though. Nicest boy he ever met, barring Jared, of course.

Chad’s whooping at the screen ferociously.

“Fuck you, Manchester!” He slides his basketball shorts down and flashes the television screen.

“Oh Jesus Murray, keep your damn pants on!”

Jared drops his controller and shields his eyes, flinging himself onto the floor, exacerbating the situation.

Jensen guffaws on his bed, shaking his head.

Kane glances up from his guitar, smirk visible on his tan features.

“You know Murray, for someone who’s apparently straight, you sure spend a lotta time naked, or attempting to be naked, around your bros.”

Chad looks up, mirth covering his face.

“Who the fuck ever said I was straight?”

The room is pregnant with silence and Chad chortles until tears roll, so pleased at having the last word.

Jensen speaks, his voice introspective.

“Hey Chad, where’d you get into school?”

Chad provides him with a fleeting look and pokes out his tongue in concentration.

“Duke, Berk, Georgetown and Washington, but those are the only full scholarships.”

Jensen’s brows are raised.

Chad grins salaciously. “I fucking study, Jensen.” Jensen’s not looking up but he hears the resounding smack and the “fuck off you big gay drag queen,” Chad directs at Jared.

“It’s mostly soccer,” Chad admits sheepishly.

Jensen turns to Kane.

“Chris?” He asks softly, Jared and Chad engaged in a pissing contest again.

Chris turns soft eyes to him, and Jensen thinks he’s really got to learn to conceal his emotions better.

“Only one I got in common with everyone is Berk. Some lax, some academics.” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but Jensen knows how critical it is for everyone. They go to one of the most academically gifted high schools in the state.

It’s hoped they’ll all end up together.

Jensen claps his hands together, startling the room.

“Jesus Jenny--”

“Don’t fucking call him that you cock-guzzling thundercunt--” Jared snarls,

but Jensen doesn’t have the time for that.

“Jay, I’ve decided.”

Jared’s eyes widen, he and Jensen have been trying to choose between them for weeks, now.

There’s an abundant pause in the room, and even Chad looks anxious.

“It’s Berkeley you idiots, haven’t you been listening to me at all?”

Chad’s face floods with crimson and he tries to brush off the whole discussion, but Jensen can tell he’s immensely contented.

Jared stands up and delivers a sound kiss to Jensen’s forehead, whispering

“I adore you,” into his hair in hushed tones.

Chris is looking down at his guitar, dutifully tuning it, but Jensen can see the telltale flush at the corners of his ears that show he’s appreciative.

Jensen clasps his hands tight. He got wait-listed for Berk a month ago, but he was offered a spot two days prior, and he’s so goddamned ecstatic to have this, to share this with Jared.

Jensen’s still defective, part of him has accepted that he probably always will be. But it’s gotten more manageable.

It’s easier to breathe.

He slants a glance over at the top of Jared’s hair, the bottom of his mane curling at the tips, the way it always does when he gets hot.

He nibbles at his lip and momentarily feels a glimmer of guilt.

Hasn’t told anyone his father’ll be released on probation in two months. Hasn’t contemplated what that means--for him.

Jensen pushes that to the back of his mind.

He’s never had that luxury.

Before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wild ride, from start to finish.  
> I've deliberately left it open for a sequel, I'm not quite ready to let this verse go.  
> If you think a sequel should be an option, feel free to comment.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be updated sporadically. I have most of this story fleshed out, but your responses to this over time will determine which ending I choose to use. Comments are my lifeblood y'all.  
> Email me at theboysci1967@yahoo.com if you've got any prompts ideas!


End file.
